The Princess And The Peeved
by cuddyclothes
Summary: Total AU. Dropped into an 18th century kingdom, House copes with a Wilson-esque princess, her power-crazed uncle, a mad king, and a rebellion. Then Wilson shows up. H/W UST, H/OFC. Crack goes angst, hurt/comfort, fluff,smut, slash, adventure. THE END.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

It had been a restless night, and House finally opened his eyes. He was resigned that sleep was not going to show up. Sleep was a jerk.

But when he opened his eyes, House was no longer in his bed. He was no longer in his bedroom. He was no longer in his apartment, or his office, or even in New Jersey.

Unless New Jersey had overdone Ruritanian castles with glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors. Heavy velvet drapes hung around the room. Any minute now Jeanette Macdonald and Nelson Eddy were going to come down the white staircase, belting out operetta. "Great, I'm about to have a nightmare about Naughty Marietta, " House thought.

When House looked around the ballroom, he saw that he was surrounded by courtiers and ladies in silken finery. "Is that what they call a jabot?" he wondered, looking at one comely wench's cleavage. This had to be a dream. But then he felt the chinstrap of a helmet on his head, and where his cane should have been, the scabbard of a sword that bumped uncomfortably against his sore leg.

"What the hell is this?" he mumbled to an elderly servant. "Some deranged costume party?"

"Would you care for a glass of sherry?" asked the man. Seeing House's glare, the servant quickly moved away. This made no sense. House wasn't on Vicodin any more, and none of his hallucinations had been this complete. Even sex with Cuddy had taken place in his apartment...

"HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, PRINCE LOUIS, AND HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, THE PRINCESS JOHANNA!" announced another elderly servant at the top of the stairs. Jesus, didn't the employment agency send anyone under the age of seventy?

But then his mouth fell open when he beheld Princess Johanna. Not because of her beauty.

Princess Johanna was..._Wilson_.

But not Wilson. This was too bizarre. Wilson was stuffed into a white dress with huge ruffled petticoats, white lace gloves, and fluttering a fan. But he was still Wilson. There was a diamond tiara on his head, but it was on that weird short haircut with the flip in the front he'd been wearing lately. Wilson was on the arm of a large man in his late fifties. As they made their way down the stairs, the courtiers and ladies bowed deeply. House knew that bowing deeply was no go as far as his leg was concerned.

Had Lucas dosed him with LSD?

Oh, God...Wilson...Johanna...he/she/it had noticed House. With a broad smile on his/her/it's face, she swept over to him, her free hand holding her fan and petticoats. "You're not bowing, Captain," it said, a coquettish smile on his/her/its face.

"Wilson, what the hell is going on?" House burst out. "Why are you got up like a middle-aged drag queen? And not even a pretty one?"

Wilson turned to the man beside him. "I do not understand, Uncle," Wilson or whoever it was said. "Why does the Captain speak to me in such a manner?"

Princess Louis smiled, but shot House a warning glance. "The Captain is much changed since battle, your Majesty. He does not always make sense. However, he did save his entire regiment using a slingshot and some old wine corks, so he is a decorated hero. As such he deserves our respect."

"**A hero**?" cried Wilson/Johanna, eyes wide." My, my, Captain, you must dance the first waltz with me!"

"Dancing isn't my strong suit,' House said uneasily."Your, uh, Majesty. I have an injured leg"

"If her Majesty wants to dance with you, you _dance_," snapped her uncle. "This is her birthday celebration and she may dance with anyone she wants to!"

"Oh, Uncle, you do embarrass me!" Wilson said, with a peal of girlish laughter. House threw up in his mouth a little.

The orchestra struck up a waltz. Wilson/Johanna held up her free hand expectantly, and House slid his arm around his/her/its waist. Immediately they whirled around the dance floor, the scabbard bouncing against House's sore leg.

If this was Lucas's doing, he was a dead man.


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY OF CHAPTER ONE: ** House has discovered himself in an 18th century ballroom, filled with courtiers, and has no idea how he got there. Then he sees the Prince Regent and his niece, Princess Johanna…who looks _exactly_ like Wilson.

Read and review, please!

As House and Princess Johanna-Wilson danced, other couples joined until the ballroom floor was full. Johanna-Wilson kept throwing her/his/its head back in fits of laughter. For no good reason.

House was too busy thinking:

The scabbard bouncing against his leg was _agony. _

If this was because of something Lucas dosed him with, it was some really amazing shit;

This was an epically crappy time to find out he really didn't have rhythm--and he'd caught a glimpse of himself in one of the floor to ceiling antique mirrors.

House had never looked so gay in his life. He was in full military uniform, silk knee breeches, high leather boots, and a ridiculous metal helmet that had a plume of red feathers barfing out of the top. Thank God wherever this was, they did not have cameras.

Johanna-Wilson didn't look any different in the mirror. House was dancing with a hermaphrodite. Or something.

"Your Majesty," House said, trying to catch his breath, "why are you laughing like that? Is it my helmet?"

"Oh, no, Captain, I am so happy!" Johanna-Wilson squealed ."I'm dancing with the handsomest man at the party on my birthday!"

_God, just skullfuck me to death, why don't you? _House groaned inside. "Thank you."

"Today I am a woman!"

"Don't be too sure of that."

"What?" The diamonds in Wilson's tiara sparkled.

"Nothing."

"And soon I shall be the Queen."

"Amen to that."

"What?"

House gazed at his/her/it. "Forget it." He looked past its head at the crowd. No, none of his PPTH staff was here, although there was a guard dog that reminded him of Thirteen. "Where are your parents?"

"I cannot say."

"Too painful to talk about, or does getting to wear the crown jewels ease that aching heart?"

Johanna-Wilson looked at House. "No. I really cannot say. I have not the faintest notion of what happened to them. You see, I was sent abroad for a summer, and when I returned, they were gone." She/he/it shrugged. "It happens. Doesn't matter, 'cause I'm to be the new Queen when I am considered ready. "

House interrupted, "Is your hair really that short? Do you have a bun in the back?"

Johanna batted Wilson's eyelashes. "You talk such silliness! Everyone knows the women of our royal family must keep their hair short. It's in the Bible. 'If a woman's hair be short, her virtue were long.' My mother shaved her head. Made it most difficult to keep on the crown. She used library paste."

"Where does it say that in the Bible?" House asked.

Johanna-Wilson thought for a moment, then frowned. "I don't know. But that's what our priest told me."

House was about to say the Bible stuff was moronic, but realized he'd been given a valuable clue. "Our country? What country is that? I--I have fits of memory loss. Battle fatigue, you know."

"Why, it's _our _country!"

"Yes, but where is it?"

"Right here, you silly goose! Where else could we be?"

"But where--is it Russia, Italy, French, Britain? Pick one."

Johanna-Wilson shook her head. "It's none of those. It's _here. _ Now you stop with that foolish talk, Captain, or I shall have to give you an official reprimand." Johanna-Wilson wrinkled--oh, hell, wrinkled **her **nose. House decided to stop confusing himself and pick a gender.

"But you went abroad," House tried again, with a sinking feeling he already knew the answer.

"I just said I did, Captain. Or weren't you listening?"

"Hanging on your every diphthong, your Majesty. _Where _did you go abroad?"

"_Abroad_, of course! And then I came back_ here_!"

At long last the waltz finished, and the dancers applauded. The orchestra struck up a sprightly air that sounded like "The Hokey-Pokey" played on a harpsichord.

"Oh, let's!" Johanna-Wilson said, indicating the dance floor with a lace-gloved hand.

"Dancing with your Majesty is a truly a--a unique experience, but I must plead my leg. Injured in battle."

Johanna-Wilson's mouth opened in a little 'o.' "Battle! How _romantic!"_

"I guess you haven't seen 'The Hurt Locker'. Sorry, forget I said that, even though you're easier to bewilder than Cameron. Battle isn't romantic, your Majesty. It kinda sucks." House was aware that the eyes of the crowd were on them. WHO WERE THESE PEOPLE?

"You must have the most thrilling stories to tell!" Johanna-Wilson grabbed his left hand.

"It's boring...sitting on a horse all day...sweating under your helmet..."

"I want you to tell me all about it. But not in here." Johanna-Wilson looked quickly around. "Follow me!"

One thing she had in common with Wilson-Wilson was that her upper body strength was considerable. She pulled him through a set of blue velvet curtains. 


	3. Chapter 3

**SUMMARY OF CHAPTER TWO: ** House is trapped in an 18th century kingdom, at a ball for the Princess's birthday. The Princess looks exactly like Wilson, but is drunk on champagne. She has pulled him out onto the balcony.

* * *

House was definitely getting pissed at not only how much he was having to walk without a cane, but also that the damn scabbard. His limp was getting worse. If Johanna-Wilson wasn't pulling him like some crazed white-gowned Clydesdale, House might have a chance to figure out how to unbuckle his sword.

"Your Majesty, please, my leg—I'm in pain!"

"Not for long!" she sang out. With her free hand, she quickly unlatched a French door and they stepped out onto a moonlit veranda.

"Oh, now, this is just overdoing it!" House burst out. "I mean, moonlight? The scent of flowers in the night air? Am I trapped in 'The Prisoner of Zenda'?"

Johanna-Wilson let go of House's hand. She gave him a reproachful look. "Most gentlemen would be highly flattered to be out here with me."

"I'm no gentleman, but if we're lucky, you won't have to find that out." House saw a stone bench and limped over to it. Gratefully he sank down, stretching out his aching leg. Johanna-Wilson sat down next to him and carefully arranged her skirt and petticoats. This was too strange…Johanna-Wilson had the same thick eyebrows, the same male hands, albeit in dumb lace gloves…

"Your Majesty, there's something I need to ask you." House unclipped the leather chinstrap of his helmet, and laid the headgear to one side on the stone bench.

Johanna-Wilson's brown eyes widened. "Yes, Captain?"

"Tact isn't something—oh God." House stared into her eyes.

"Captain." Johanna-Wilson smiled shyly, closed her eyes, and faced him, ready for a kiss.

"Before I—before I went into the military, I was a doctor. Your appearance: were you born a boy and raised as a girl?"

"I BEG YOUR PARDON?" Her eyes snapped open.

"You obviously aren't a hermaphrodite or you'd be a lot prettier. Trust me; I know what I'm talking about. Look, there's only one way to figure this out—" Before Johanna-Wilson could get out another syllable, House dove under the massive skirts of her white ball gown.

"What are you doing?" Johanna-Wilson shrieked.

"Research," came the muffled response. "As I thought: no cage crinoline, no panties."

"Stop it! Stop it…at…once?" Johanna-Wilson's legs went slack and she stopped fighting. She slumped back against the stone wall behind the bench as House wrestled his way back out of her dress.

"You people don't bathe much, do you?" House pulled off his leather gloves and tossed them over the stone wall.

"Wuh…?"

"As far as an outward examination can determine, you are completely female. Honestly, I don't know if that's disgusting or cool. It's freaky, I can tell you that." He looked over at Johanna-Wilson. "Uh-oh."

House had expected to be screamed at, reprimanded, at the very least, slapped. But Johanna-Wilson was gazing at him in a way that he thought women only did in cheap romantic novels.

Oh, shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**SUMMARY OF CHAPTER THREE**: By diving under her skirts, House has discovered that Johanna-Wilson is biologically female. And horny.

* * *

House could hear the music playing inside. If he'd had full use of his leg, he could have made a mad dash for the French doors. Johanna-Wilson started batting her fan around, looking at him coyly over it.

"Captain Doe…may I call you John?" Before House could answer, she continued: "I've never—"

"Felt this way before?" House filled in for her.

"No, I was going to say I have never been _felt_ like that before." She grinned. "It was…luscious."

House grinned back. "Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?"

She shook her head. "In our country, we say tender twelve and never been caressed. Sixteen is awfully old not to have been kissed. Unless you're ugly. Or deformed. Or have unusually small hands." Johanna-Wilson paused. "We make an exception for dwarves, of course." She folded her fan.

"Wow, this place is a pedophile's paradise."

"Besides, I am much older than sixteen. Can't you tell?"

"Oh, you don't want to know—"

House was cut off by Johanna-Wilson throwing one arm around House's shoulders and the other around his chest, pulling him to her and shoving her tongue into his mouth. Damn, she was as strong as Wilson! And almost as experienced, if her tongue action was to be believed. House tried to escape her embrace, at least to breathe, but the future Queen of Wherever-The-Fuck-He-Was had him in an iron grip.

She paused for breath, her brown eyes glittering. Jeez, the left one even drifted inward a little like Wilson's. House couldn't decide if it was turn-on or a buzzkill.

He and Wilson had only made out once. It was after a "Designing Woman" marathon drinking game—one shot for every time the steely broad with the brown hair made a loud feminist speech. By seven episodes both House and Wilson were blotto, and figured, why the hell not?

The next morning they both had killer hangovers and never spoke about it again. However, "Designing Women" was taken off the Tivo.

"John, darling," Johanna-Wilson whispered, her voice thick.

"Who's John?"

"You are!"

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry. Listen, your Majesty, I've had a simply swell time here in Wonderland. But I'm in pain. I can't think about anything else." There was just enough truth in that statement to sell the Princess.

"In pain?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so? I'll have the palace apothecary bring you some white crystal meth."

"You people have crystal meth?"

She looked at him as if he was an idiot. "No, John, crystal _eth_. White crystal _eth._ It comes from quarries north of here, and is a wondrous remedy for what ails you." She turned: "GERHARDT!"

"I think I blew an eardrum"

"Yes, your Majesty?" another elderly servant hobbled up to them with amazing speed. Maybe you were only employed at the palace if you were too old to diddle the twelve-year-olds.

"Please rouse the apothecary and have him give you two cakes of white crystal eth. And do it fast, Gerhardt, if you value your life."

"Yes, your Majesty!" Gerhardt backed away faster than a Chevy Malibu. Johanna-Wilson turned to House.

"If you are wondering why all our man servants are so advanced in age, it is because my uncle desires that I preserve my virtue until marriage."

"Seriously?" said House. "Because with the way you kiss, I would have thought you would have ridden the riding crop more than once. Your hair should be down to your satin-clad ass."

"I am a virtuous woman, Captain Doe," she informed him sternly. "Kissing is one thing, and so, for that matter, is having a man take my breasts out of my bodice and play with them, giving them each a funny voice." Johanna-Wilson paused. "That was only one man, and I let him do it because he was my third cousin. Would you like to play with my breasts?"

"NO!" House exclaimed. "I mean, I'm in so much pain, even the thought of your Highness's breasts makes me ill—tempting though they might be otherwise!" He couldn't imagine that there were breasts under that bodice. Besides the genitals, Johanna-Wilson was built exactly like his best friend, and Wilson didn't have man-boobs. (Although he'd get them if he didn't stop pigging out all of the time on pie.)

"Your Highness." Gerhardt stepped out of the darkness with two pills on a platter and a glass of sherry.

"Ah, the eth!" Johanna-Wilson exclaimed. She picked up the tablets and put them in the palm of her hand, taking the glass of sherry. "Now, John, you have to lick them out of my palm."

_You crazy weirdo-ass bitch_, House thought, but the thought of having his head chopped off made him lean over and expertly lick the tablets out of her hand. After all, how many times had he licked pills out of hookers' navels?

"The sherry is for me," Johanna-Wilson said, and knocked it back in one gulp. This girl had been around the pasture quite a few times.

The taste was instantly familiar, and his subconscious started belting out the Hallelujah chorus. White crystal eth was…Vicodin! And this place had quarries of it!

Before he could stop himself, he said, "Please, sir, may I have some more?"

"Tut-tut!" Johanna-Wilson wagged her finger at him. "Two at a time, that's as much as anyone is allowed." She glanced away from Gerhardt. "Unless they're in excruciating pain?" She winked.

House let out a shriek. "MY LEG! Oh God, my leg, my amyloidosis! It's killing me!"

"Gerhardt, more eth cakes at once!" Johanna-Wilson ordered, and Gerhardt scurried back inside.

It had been so long since he'd taken any Vicodin, the rush was incredible. In a matter of seconds House was completely stoned. He smiled broadly at Johanna-Wilson.

"I could get to like this place," he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Yes, House can relapse! At least in MY universe. Please read and review. Both praise and concrit would be appreciated beyond all measure. Oh, yeah, this is set parallel with the beginning of Season Six, when Cuddy is with Lucas and House is living with Wilson in the condo. Should've mentioned that.

* * *

After two more crystal eth cakes, House slid off the stone bench onto the equally hard stones of the veranda, but he didn't care. Boy, did he feel good. And it wasn't a relapse, even if the stuff was like Vicodin.

His head was cradled in Johanna-Wilson's lap. She sat cross-legged (that much he could tell) on the veranda floor, smiling at him tenderly. House giggled.

"You like exactly like my best friend," he said, and giggled again.

"Do I?" Johanna-Wilson stroked his hair. "Is he in the army with you?"

"No, no, he's terrified of blood and gore and death. He's a cobbler a few villages away from here." If Wilson ever found out—then again, how would Wilson ever find out? House could say anything. He already did, anyway. "Makes a great last. His uppers, though, could use improvement."

"So, how do I look like him?" she asked.

"You have the same haircut. You have the same eyebrows." House wondered what to say next. "Um, he's obsessed with his grooming. Won't leave the cottage with a hair out of place." House paused. "He's pretty."

Johanna-Wilson leaned back, satisfied. "He's pretty. Strange word to use for a man, John. How pretty is he?"

House might have been stoned, but he wasn't so stoned that he didn't know how to answer that one. "He's beautiful. God, he's beautiful. Just like you."

She shifted under his head. "Thank you, John. Of course, I look nothing like a man!" Johanna-Wilson let out another one of those peals of girlish laughter. _That's what you think, Jimmy girl._

"Johanna!" A man came striding out onto the veranda. House rolled his head sideways. It was Johanna's uncle, Prince Louis. He was solidly built, in fact he was stout, with a heavy brown beard.

"Join the party," House said. "Her Majesty can get some more of those eth cakes. They kick serious ass."

"Johanna, you forget your station. It was one thing to have your cousin play with your breasts, but a soldier in your lap! Come inside at once and rejoin your guests."

"But Uncle, Captain Doe is such excellent company."

Prince Louis paused. "Captain Doe? Did you tell her that was your name?"

"It isn't?" House looked up at him. His name couldn't be Captain Gregory House.

"No, it's Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. And that's the short version. The full name takes a day and a half." The Prince stared down at House. "Why did you give my niece a false name, Captain de la Fontaine?"

House sat up, swaying, and grabbed his helmet from the bench by the red feathers. "I forgot my name, sir. It happens all the time. For a month I ordered my men to address me as Elm Tree. Soldiers are mindless drones, they do what they're told."

"John Doe is a lovely name!" Johanna-Wilson snapped. "Every other man in this kingdom is named Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards." She put up her hand so that her uncle could help her to her feet. House remained seated on the veranda. How was he going to get up?

"Aren't you coming back to the party, Captain?" Johanna-Wilson asked.

"I'll be right there," House said, smiling as gaily as possible.

Once they were out of sight, he began the maddening process of getting up. The pain was gone, thanks to the eth, but that didn't mean his leg was any stronger. House let go of the helmet, and got on all fours. _Mama_, these breeches were tight! And the kid leather boots skidded on the stones.

House crawled to the stone bench, rose up on his knees, and grabbed the opposite side of the bench. With a lot of grunting and cursing, he pulled himself onto the bench. After resting for a moment, he put on the idiotic helmet, then turned his attention to his scabbard. Perhaps this damn oversized scalpel could be of some use after all. Finally he got the buckle undone (thinking randomly that Johanna-Wilson would have gotten it undone much faster). When tilted upward, the sword and its leather and brass scabbard could be used as a makeshift cane, albeit a wobbly one. The handle was hardly ideal, and the height was wrong, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

House wobbled back towards the palace, trying to remember his name. Marmaduke? That stupid Great Dane in the "funny" pages?

It could have been worse. His name could have been Ziggy.


	6. Chapter 6

All eyes were upon House as he limped into the ballroom. He gave them a woozy smile. "Does anybody have a cane? This thing sucks."

The Princess's uncle barked: "A cane for the Captain! Take it from an old woman if necessary!" The servants immediately plunged into the crowd. Muffled cries were heard, as well as a few thumps. After a short interval, six doddering servants came forward, holding a variety of canes, from an ebony walking stick to a dog-headed parasol. Technically it wasn't a cane, but House appreciated the man's initiative.

He chose a silver-handled black wooden cane that was the proper height—it was that or the dog-headed parasol. "Thank you," he said to the servant. "You're a wonderful human being. Even if you are probably going to die by the end of the week."

"Thank you, sir."

The orchestra was started a minuet. House surveyed the ballroom. He did not recognize a single face. Even Blue the janitor would be a relief.

Then he saw Princess Johanna-Wilson. She was dancing with an extremely tall, chisel-chinned man in a yellow coat and dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail. She smiled up at him with delight as he spoke to her.

A sharp pang went through him. House was astonished to realize it was jealousy. Jealous? Of Johanna-Wilson? She didn't have the intelligence of a bowl of Jell-O. But those brown eyes, that rosy lipped smile, every reminder that this, uh, girl looked exactly like Wilson…

_Oh, what the hell,_ he thought, _she is cute. _And now that he considered it, his best friend was awfully pretty. If only he and his female doppelganger had a different haircut.

It was getting House hot. And it wasn't the drugs. What would Dr. Nolan say about this? That it was some kind of weird transference thing? Oh, who gave a crap what his therapist would say? He started to limp through the crowd toward the Princess.

"I beg your pardon, Captain," said a woman's voice behind him. House turned. There in front of him stood a vision of beauty. Her glossy blonde hair was piled high; her green eyes sparkled like jewels; and she had killer tits. Long hair…that meant her virtue was short, if not nonexistent.

"How can I service you? I mean, how can I be of service?"

The lady's lips formed a delicious smile as she looked at his cane. "I'm the Duchess of Outer Flummox. I know it's forward of me to approach you, but I find a man wounded in battle…irresistible."

"You just like me for my cane."

"Well, yes. But does that matter? Shall we dance?"

House was about to say no, but then he heard Johanna-Wilson's laughter nearby. Jesus, what was so great about the jerk she was prancing around with? Okay, he was tall. Okay, he was handsome and young. _If she pulls him behind those curtains, I'll—_

"It would be my pleasure, Duchess." House bowed slightly, the red feathers on his helmet flopping forward. He leaned the cane against a porcelain plant stand, and took her in his arms.

Crap on a cracker, dancing hurt! It wasn't as bad as having a scabbard bouncing against his leg, but after the pounding his poor limb had taken so far this evening, all he wanted was some more white crystal eth, and a long hot bath. Preferably with Johanna-Wilson.

"What?" he said out loud.

"_What_ what?" asked the Duchess. "Is my dancing not agreeable to you, Captain?"

"It's fine, except that if I had a chainsaw I'd cut off my leg. Forget I said that. You're a wonderful dancer. And you're beautiful."

"All of you men say that," she said with a light laugh. House looked past her for Johanna-Wilson. Ha! The Princess was glaring across the ballroom at House and the Duchess! That would teach her to…something, he didn't know what. He started to maneuver the Duchess closer to the Princess and her partner. With each turn, they came closer, and House could see that Johanna-Wilson did not like it one bit.

"We meet again!" House exclaimed in his best I-couldn't-care-less voice. "Your Majesty, you know the Duchess. She is from Outer Flummox. Beautiful country there."

"Lovely to see you again," Johanna-Wilson said to the Duchess. "How is the Duke? Still suffering from that terrible pox your dairymaid gave him? Captain de la Fontaine, this is Roger McRoger of the Upholstered Islands."

"I'm always proud to meet one of our fighting men," Roger McRoger said in an impossibly deep voice.

"Thank you. I'm always pleased to meet a male model."

"Isn't he exquisite? All the ladies want to dance with him, but it's my party and so he is all mine." The Princess looked straight at House, _"so there_" written all over her features.

"Yes, he is exquisite, your Majesty." House had an urge to pull that stupid ponytail of McRoger's. But he only bowed his head and turned the Duchess in a different direction. "If you will excuse us…you will take note, your Majesty, the Duchess has an extremely attractive head of long hair."

Before the Princess could answer, House limp danced away from her. He felt her eyes burning into his back. His limp was growing worse, and he winced in pain. The Duchess didn't notice; she was too busy basking in all of the male attention coming her way. The woman probably had the longest hair in the room, House guessed, or she was wearing a wig. Perhaps that was the equivalent in this place of wearing pasties and day of the week bikinis.

"Duchess, I really must stop dancing. My leg is killing me."

"Oh." She even pouted beautifully. "But I was having so much fun."

"Don't worry, you'll find another dashing cavalier to slobber all over you." He limped to where he had left the cane, and found a comfortable upholstered arm chair. A sigh of relief escaped House's lips. Nothing was getting him out of this baby.

A few moments later, the sounds of a screaming catfight erupted on the other side of the ballroom. House didn't want to stand up to see what was happening, although it was fun to see all of the satin-clad chaos. The servants stood by nervously; obviously they all knew they were too frail to get involved.

Several men, including Roger McRoger, pulled the two women apart. It was the Duchess and Princess Johanna-Wilson. The Princess's tiara was askew, and the Duchess's gown had a nasty tear down the front. They were both panting with exertion.

Johanna-Wilson was being held back by Roger McRoger. "Servants, take out this trash."

House watched, appalled, as four ancient man servants lifted the Duchess and carried her out of the ballroom. The Princess, eyes wide with rage, stormed out of the ballroom, going right past where House was sitting. He made a grab for her skirt and pulled her up short. She turned and stared down at him.

"What was that about?" House asked.

"It is none of your affair. But if she thinks she will be a guest in this palace again, she is sadly mistaken!" Johanna-Wilson stamped her foot.

House grinned. "It was about me, wasn't it?"

"What if it was?" Johanna-Wilson glanced around, then straightened her tiara.

"Here, let me help you with that." House carefully arranged her veil around her shoulders. She bent slightly so he would not have to stand up.

"The gall, parading you in front of me, and you limping like a broken-legged harness racer."

"Are you going to have me shot?"

"Highly amusing. You always think you're amusing, don't you? But I can tell, it hides you from everybody else."

_Oh my God, she had more in common with Wilson than his looks._

She straightened herself and turned to House. "Champagne, John?"

"I thought my name was Marmaduke," House said uneasily.

"To me, you will always be John Doe." She winked.

Johanna-Wilson snapped her fingers and servants appeared with trays of champagne and eyeballs on toast points.

"I don't care for sheep's eyeballs," Johanna-Wilson said. "They squirt everywhere." She handed House a glass of champagne. "Drink up, John."

House gave Johanna-Wilson a long leer. "So," he said, "where am I supposed to sleep tonight?"


	7. Chapter 7

The guest bedroom was ludicrously ornate, with red fabric panels on the walls, a pink marble fireplace, and more floor to ceiling mirrors. These people really adored looking at themselves. Well, what could you expect in a palace?

House reclined in a bed that looked soft, but was surprisingly hard. He longed for pillow-top technology. It was a huge, tall canopy bed, with lighter red curtains on the sides and a matching valance around the top. A linen long nightshirt had been laid out on the bed for him. House was more grateful that mere words could express that he had not had to return to a barracks where he knew no one. Even as a military officer's son there was only so much he could fake.

Even though he had blown out the bedside candle (how many of these curtained beds caught fire, anyway?), the moonlight illuminated the room. House hated moonlight. He was tired, and with any luck he'd fall asleep and magically wake up in his new condo in New Jersey. Wasn't that how it always happened? He dug his head into the pillows.

"John?"

"HWAA!" House sat bolt upright.

Johanna Wilson stood by his bed, holding a candlestick. The floor-length cotton shift and ruffled nightcap were very flattering. The latter hid that awful haircut.

"Your Highness, you have me at a disadvantage. I'm guessing that's what you wanted."

"You're supposed to stand when I enter, John."

"A, it hurts like hell when I stand up, and B, I'm lying in a bed. I'm sitting, is that good enough?"

Johanna-Wilson's mouth curved into a small smile. "It is more than good enough." The bed dipped down slightly as she sat on it. "Your eyes are blue, but by candlelight they look…darker somehow. What color are my eyes?"

"Brown. They're always brown. Deep, rich brown."

Johanna-Wilson put the candlestick on bedside stand House hadn't noticed, and leaned forward, her face close to his. "I would like you to go first this time," she whispered.

House took her face in his hands. Thank God, her skin was smooth, without a hint of five o clock shadow. That cute nose he'd envied so many times, the frown lines, that little mole near his mouth…her mouth…this was really confusing. Even if House was becoming extremely aroused.

"I don't know if I can do this," House said.

"Why? Your war injuries?" Johanna-Wilson looked genuinely concerned. "I don't want to hurt you. Unless that's what you want."

House leaned over and blew out the candle, then kissed Johanna-Wilson hard on the mouth. This time it was his tongue pushing into her mouth, feeling her teeth, probing deeply as he felt her shudder against him. He moved his head back.

"You're right, Johanna, it's my turn," he whispered back, grinning. He noted she'd even had the consideration of sitting on the left side of the bed, so that her body weight wouldn't fall on his infracted leg. House kissed her again, feeling her under her nightshift, the broad shoulders, the strong thighs, and as he kissed her he gingerly moved his hand toward her chest. He didn't know if he wanted breasts to be there or not.

Johanna-Wilson leaned back against his kissing, one hand caressing his shoulder, the other braced on the bed so she could stay upright. She made a tiny whimpering sound.

House's right hand reached her chest. There were breasts, but exceedingly small ones. Her nipples were erect and rock hard. House playfully tweaked one, which evoked an ecstatic gasp. "I don't care what you say, I'm not making your chest talk," he said into her neck. "Ventriloquism is out of my line. I do, however, know a great deal about the central nervous system. You see, when I do—"

"Please stop speaking, "Johanna-Wilson moaned. She shifted so that she lay back on the bed, looking up at him.

Just then, there was a knock on the door.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you so much for the nice reviews. This chapter is rated NC-17!

**Not safe for work!**

"WHAT?" House yelled. "I'm trying to sleep here!"

There was another knock at the door.

"What are we going to do, John?" Johanna-Wilson whispered in panic.

"Don't move."

House flipped over all of the voluminous bedcovers over Johanna-Wilson, leaving his side of the bed bare. He made sure she was completely covered before getting out of bed, holding his sore leg. Grabbing his cane, he limped to the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Gerhardt, sir," said the voice on the other side of the door. Both relieved and annoyed, House swung the thick wooden door open. He glanced back to make sure the Princess hadn't moved.

"What do you want, Gerhardt?"

"One of the chambermaids smelled something burning, sir, and said it was coming from this room."

House turned. That goddamned candle hadn't gone out after all! Smoke plumed up from the carpet where it had fallen. He cursed himself for not smelling it, but be grateful for small favors. It hadn't actually set anything on fire, just burnt a nasty hole in the wool carpet.

Before he could stop the servant, Gerhardt doddered into the bedroom, went to the washstand, grabbed the china pitcher and emptied the water onto the smoking carpet. House stared fixedly at the lump of bed clothing, but the Princess didn't budge.

"I shall bring you more water, sir."

House put his hand on Gerhardt's shoulder and took the pitcher with the other. "That's fine, Gerhardt. Thank you for your quick action. I won't need any water tonight. I won't need anything tonight."

"Very well, Captain. Please ring in the morning after you have used the commode."

"My bowel movement is your bowel movement, Gerhardt."

"Thank you, sir?" Gerhardt gave House a quizzical look as House practically pushed the old man out the door. House locked the door, and then put the pitcher back on the washstand.

"Johanna? He's gone."

Johanna-Wilson's head popped up from the bedclothes. She was giggling. "That was fun! We almost got caught!" He had to admit, she looked adorable, her eyes full of mischief and lust.

"Fun for you, maybe. I'd be the one whose head gets chopped off for popping the royal cherry."

"What, John?"

"You know. Your virtue."

"My virtue?" Her smile grew wider. "I lost my virtue simply ages ago. To a visiting Laird. He was passing through on his way to conquering a large town outside of our borders, and the poor dear needed some relaxation. But he smelled of horses. And it hurt. It hasn't when I've done it since, though."

House sat back on the bed, pulling some of the bedcovers off the Princess. "Then why did you tell me—"

"I barely knew you, John. Do you think I am fond of wearing this silly hairdress?" She tugged down her nightcap to make certain it was still on.

"Wow. The Princess and the traveling Laird. That's a new one on me."

Johanna-Wilson wiggled out of the rest of the bedclothes, sitting back on her knees. "I have gorgeous hair. I dream of wearing a braid." She paused. "Everyone knew my mother didn't lay abed with my father. Not after I was born. Her shaved head, you know. It was so embarrassing."

"I know you have gorgeous hair."

"And how do you know that, may I ask?"

"Oh, let's just say I have a great imagination." House lifted his sore leg up onto the bed. "As I recall, it was still my turn."

"That it was, and that it is." Still smiling, she closed her eyes.

House kissed her, softly this time, enjoying her scent, familiar and strange at the same time. Once, when Wilson had left for work, House had snuck into his bedroom and snuggled into the bed, smelling the pillows. Then the cleaning lady showed up and House babbled a lame excuse about having lost his stethoscope in Wilson's bed, which only made it worse. It took fifty dollars to make her promise not to tell Wilson. A week.

But that was then, and this was…whenever it was. Johanna-Wilson remained on her knees, her hands on the bed, letting House kiss her, gently brushing his mouth against hers. "May I call you a special name?" he whispered into her nightcap.

"What?"

"Wilson?"

"NO." The Princess glared at him. "I thought it was going to be something nice, like Tiddles. I think you've used that name in passion before."

"What makes you think that? No! You just seem…sort of Wilson-y to me. But as your Highness wishes…"

"It is." _Holy crap, she looked even more like Wilson when she was disapproving._

Arousal shot through his entire body. House took her into his arms, pulling her against him, kissing her hard. He was getting an erection, which he gently moved between her legs, both of them shielded only by their thin nightclothes. She lifted up slightly, so that it was positioned to rub against her, and moaned. Her arms slid under his and around to his back, her fingers pressed into his flesh.

House licked her earlobe, and she gasped. "I love the feeling of your beard against my neck," she said into his hair. "Please, please, take me."

He grinned diabolically. "You think I work that fast? No such luck, kiddo." He leaned back and again put his hands on her chest. Her head was down, and she continued to moan as he expertly massaged the flesh and played with her nipples. House leaned down and gently bit her nipple through the nightshirt, and she instinctively arched her back. "I thought you'd like that," he murmured, and bit it again. He was rock hard, almost painfully so, but it was giving him so much pleasure to see her writhe and moan under his touch he could stand it for quite a while longer.

He slid his hands down her back and grabbed her buttocks, then fell back, pulling her on top of him. Johanna-Wilson's weight slapped against his body, squirming, pushing against him with her hips. He resumed kissing her, as passionately as she had kissed him earlier that evening, and she matched him every step of the way, sucking at his tongue, running the flats of her hands along his arms. As their hands met, House pushed her hands upward, and she pushed down, hard, but not hard enough to push his hands back. Instead, she buried her face in his chest, rubbing her face against it like a cat.

House thought he almost couldn't take the way he was feeling, his body filled with urgency and need. But he knew she felt it more. He let go of her right hand and slapped her hard, on her ass. She involuntarily jerked. "Ow!"

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"John…" her voice was ragged. House had a second of disorientation at being called by a different name, but "Marmaduke" would have made him go limp. He slid down his right hand, still not going under her nightshift, until he felt her crotch, and moved his hand expertly. Johanna-Wilson's brown eyes flew open, obviously astonished at what she was feeling. "Oh…oh...wuh…John…" She pulled her left hand free, and with both hands, tore open his nightshirt nearly to the waist. Like an animal, she bit and tugged at his chest hair, fondled his upper chest muscles, while at the same time her hips thrust and bucked above his.

House grabbed her buttocks and thrust his still-clothed erection between her still-clothed legs, both the intense heat and the slight cotton burning amazingly wonderful. Sensations were shooting around his body like a neon strobe light, as Johanna-Wilson pushed her mouth against his again, forcing his lips open with her tongue.

House couldn't take it any more. He pulled up her nightshift with both hands until she was entirely exposed below the waist. It was slightly more difficult getting his nightshirt out from under the Princess, but she sensed what he was going for and lifted herself. His penis sprang free, standing straight up (like the soldier he wasn't, House thought).

"John!" Johanna-Wilson exclaimed, clearly impressed. House pushed her off of him to the left, drops of sweat falling off his forehead onto her face. She clearly did not mind. He straddled her, and she flung her legs open, hips thrust upward. House shoved his penis into her, grunting and pushing as hard and deeply as he could. Johanna-Wilson grabbed his waist, trying to pull him deeper into her, pressing with all of her strength into his groin. Then she pulled back, and the sliding sensation tore through House as he pumped his groin against her. The feelings built up throughout him, he couldn't stand it another moment. And then he heard her scream his name.

He exploded inside of her with an intensity that made him see red and black patterns when he closed his eyes.

House dropped on top of the quivering Johanna-Wilson, whose inner muscles were still contracting against his penis.

It hadn't even seemed strange that when she screamed his name, it was a pseudonym.


	9. Chapter 9

_Summary: That wasn't a wet dream about Wilson. Uh-oh._

House smiled to himself, half-asleep. That had been the mother of **all** wet dreams. Having sex with Wilson, but Wilson being a girl, somehow Wilson being the girl made it even hotter than the dream he'd had about the magic winged bunnies. (_That_ one he hadn't even told Dr. Nolan about—there were limits.) But even if he was sort of a girl, he was still **Wilson**. Wow. Wilson really **was** hot, House admitted to himself. He was getting hard again.

Before he could reach down and touch himself, a voice next to him said, "That was…_sooo_ nice."

"Wilson—" House murmured.

"Don't call me _Wilson_!"

House's eyes snapped open.

SHIT.

He was still in the palace guest bedroom. The early morning sun streamed through the windows, dust motes swirling in the light.

But he was supposed to be back in his own bed in New Jersey! It had all been a dream! What the hell?

House turned his head. Princess Johanna-Wilson blinked sleepily at him. Jesus Christ in a bucket, she looked exactly like Wilson. Except for the ruffled nightcap. And the facial expression.

"Good morning, John" she said. "Who is Wilson? Was she your great love? Your wife? A goat? We had a farmer who hung himself for love of a goat."

House was thrown by everything. He wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be with Johanna-Wilson, and wasn't supposed to be Marmaduke Whateverthefuckhisnamewas. Everything was wrong.

"I can't talk about it," he said gruffly. "I mean, I _really_ can't talk about it."

"A fallen comrade? I know soldiers in the heat of battle…well, you're alone on the battlefield, and there's all that idle time between when someone else is trying to kill you. I know alliances are made." Her gaze was keen.

"Close," he admitted. "But that's as much as I'm going to say. I'm sorry I called you Wilson. Please don't ask me anything else. Or I'll be forced to cheat on you with a goat."

"Ick, you'd get fleas."

"Maybe, and getting the plague would be a buzzkill. Even typhus would suck." House sat up in the bed. "I have to pee. Where's that pitcher?"

Johanna-Wilson made a disgusted noise. "You have been in the field too long, John. The pitcher is for washing. The commode is—well, I'm not sure what gentlemen do."

House looked around the room. "The windows are the right height. Lemme look for an appropriate target."

"Not the gardener!" she squealed.

"Why? It's not like people around here take a bath more than once a week. And I'm guessing that's being generous." Limping around the room, House peered out of the windows until he found what he was looking for.

A simpering stone cherub. Back in real life, he despised those stupid chubby cherubs slapped on everything from greeting cards to dog sweaters. Now he could do something more than just bitch about it.

Opening the window, he lifted his nightshirt, took aim and fired. Bullseye!

"Oh, let me see, please!" Johanna Wilson joined him at the window. Again, it was unnerving; she was the same height as Wilson, and despite the now extremely-wrinkled nightshift, built like him. "You got it right on top of the head." She started. "My lady in waiting is going to be coming to get me ready for breakfast!" Quickly, she ran to the door and peered out. "It's empty."

She ran back across the room, grabbed House by the shoulders, and kissed him. "Later," she said into the kiss, then gently bit his lip.

And then she was gone.

What was he going to do now? He prayed some servant would show up and help him get back into that stupid uniform. The helmet was definitely staying up here.

Somehow, looking out at the cherub with urine dripping from its head, he felt he was looking at a kindred spirit.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews! It's really what keeps me going. I hope you like this!_

Breakfast was served to House in his room by Gerhardt, who apparently had been appointed his personal gentleman or whatever they were called. It was a plate of kidneys, fried tomatoes and liver. And weak tea.

"I'd kill for some Froot Loops," House snarled, staring at the brown and orange mess on the plate.

"What are those, sir?"

"Battle rations. Can a guy get a decent cup of coffee in this place? And some clean underwear?"

"I'll do my best, sir." Gerhardt hurried out, leaving House alone.

What was he going to do? Why was he still here? Was this like that TV show "Quantum Leap", where he was supposed to solve something and then leap back into his own life? House limped around the room, touching everything: the furniture, the walls, the mantel on the fireplace, the bedclothes. It was all solid, real. He wracked his brain for some tell-tale detail from the night before that might have given him a clue as to why he was here. But for some reason, every person he recalled had been obscenely healthy. House's leg was aching…the first thing he would do was make friends with the apothecary, so he could have a steady supply of white crystal eth.

He opened the armoire, only to find it well-stocked with everything a man could need. Neatly folded nightshirts (Gerhardt had stared at the torn neckline of the one House was wearing, but House had stared back as if nothing was amiss), a long burgundy silk dressing gown, white stockings, breeches, leather shoes with low heels, shirts, cravats, several black frock coats…and two more uniforms, duplicates of the one he had worn the night before. House slammed the door shut, breaking into a frightened sweat.

How…? Oh, God, if only he was sitting in the PPTH men's shower, hallucinating on acid, or even hallucinating on Vicodin. He wished Amber would show up so he'd know he was insane again. But he was alone.

"Your coffee, sir."

"_**HWAH!**_" House spun around to see Gerhardt staring at him, holding a silver tray.

"Are you all right, sir?" Gerhardt's pudgy brow settled into a concerned frown.

"Yes, I'm all right, but this is all wrong. How did I get here, Gerhardt? What am I doing here?"

Gerhardt took a step back. "Captain, you were invited to stay and recuperate here after your last battle. You arrived in a carriage, sir. Then your things were brought up to this room and unpacked." He paused. "Don't you remember _any_ of that, sir?"

House realized that admitting he had no memory before the ballroom was not going to go over too well. "Yes—yes, of course I remember." He forced a smile. "It's the fighting, flashbacks, PTSD, sometimes I forget where I am—"

"I've noticed that, sir. Any time you forget where you are or what your name is or how to fasten your breeches, you tell me, sir, and I'll see to it that no-one else knows." Gerhardt winked.

_Yeah, nobody but you and the entire downstairs staff_, House thought.

"Now, shall we get dressed for the day, sir?"

"I don't have to wear that goddamned uniform again, do I?"

"No, sir, only in the evenings. You forgot your sash last night."

"Great. As if I didn't look faggy enough."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Army term. Say, what regiment did I serve in?"

"The royal regiment, sir." Gerhardt frowned again. "You actually do not remember, Captain?"

"_No_!" House spat. "I don't remember _one damn piece of one_—" He stopped himself. "Yes. Yes, I remember. Excuse me, I was having a brain fart."

"Yes, sir. Now let's drink our coffee and then we shall get dressed to go downstairs."

For the second time, House prayed that God would skullfuck him to death and get him out of here.

Except that he wondered where Johanna-Wilson was right now.


	11. Chapter 11

WARNING: Rated M. Not Safe for Work

It was late morning before House finally ventured out of the safety of his bedroom. Gerhardt had helped him climb into a pair of yellow breeches, itchy white stockings, a white shirt with a high collar and equally high white cravat, and a black high-waisted frock coat. House refused to wear a hat.

There seemed to be no one around the palace but footmen. He thought he spotted one or two under sixty. It made sense—someone had to do the heavy lifting.

He limped down a corridor toward an open door, which opened out into an opulent garden. The spring air brushed his face, the sunlight causing him to squint. From the bottom of the stairs, two curved paths led around a large fountain with a (_shudder)_ cherub holding an urn from which water poured. What was it with these people and cherubs? House made a mental note to pee in the fountain after dark.

There was a gardener clipping a high ornamental hedge off to his right. It was unnerving to be so alone, nothing to help him get his bearings.

House was so lost in thought he nearly bumped into a couple walking toward him.

"Hello, Captain." His heart jumped when he saw it was Johanna-Wilson, in a long checked day dress and bonnet. She was walking arm in arm with a man slightly shorter than she was, and House disliked him on sight. He had curly blond hair, a pleasant enough ruddy face, and small blue eyes. His cravat was red plaid, matching his waistcoat.

She was clearly uncomfortable. "We were starting to worry that you weren't coming down at all today, Captain."

"I was tired after a very long night, your Highness," House said with an evil grin. "The dancing, society, all of that. I was up nearly all night. I trust you slept well?"

He was rewarded with a deep crimson blush creeping up Johanna-Wilson's neck and flaming her cheeks. House wanted to kiss her right there and then.

"Er--may I introduce you to my fiancé, Gregory, Duke of Boeuf-Sandwich-Moutarde." She said it as flatly as she would say "Gregory, my dry-cleaner."

Gregory? _Gregory?_ This was too much. Not only was House saddled with two false names, this twat had _his_ name?

"Gregory, this is Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine," Johanna-Wilson said. "He's staying here while he recuperates from the wounds he incurred in battle. He saved his entire regiment, you know."

"Yes," the Duke said drily. "You've been talking of nothing else for the last hour, dearest."

Hearing this twerp with his name address Johanna-Wilson as "dearest" made House want to thwack him with his cane. Why didn't she tell him she was engaged? Because she was a slut, that's why. She probably jumped into bed with every traveling royal and soldier who crossed her path.

But the expression on her face—her face was turned slightly from Gregory so it was shielded from his observation. The expression on it was pleading, as if she was saying, don't _blame me for this, I don't want to be with this little self-satisfied popinjay either_. House clenched and unclenched his free hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Duke," he said with every ounce of insincerity he could muster.

"Mmm," agreed the Duke, who tightened his grip on Johanna-Wilson's arm. _Come on,_ House thought, _you could deck him with one punch_. "Dearest, shall we go in and leave the Captain to his meditations? Good morning, Captain." With that, the Duke continued in the opposite direction down the path. Johanna-Wilson shot House a desperate look, and then they were gone.

House limped, fuming, around the garden, swallowing an eth tablet he had squirreled away from the night before. What did it matter if Johanna-Wilson was engaged? It was just a one-night-stand. Damn, it was just a one-night stand. And what did House care, anyway? _Stupid big tramp, sneaking into his bedroom, pretending she was a virgin—_

Then he remembered her thrashing underneath him, and stopped short. Memories from the night before flooded over him, warming his body and mind. It had been a long time since he'd had sex with any woman who wasn't a prostitute, and the fact that she looked and smelled like Wilson…

Shit. Even in Never-Never-Land brother couldn't catch a break.

He turned and limped back to the palace. Where else did he have to go?

As he went down a corridor draped with thick blue silk tasseled curtains, he thought he heard a sound. He did. He stopped and looked around.

"_Psssst_…"

House couldn't tell where it was coming from. Then he saw one of the curtains rustle_. "Pssst…"_

"For God's sake, Johanna, do you have to play games now? I'm not in the mood."

Johanna was hiding behind the curtain, eyes wide. "Quick! In here!"

House stepped behind the curtain. There was a stone alcove behind the curtain, large enough for the two of them to stand in. Before he could say anything, she started babbling.

"It's so awkward about Gregory and I would have told you but he only got in this morning and you didn't come downstairs and I've been looking for you everywhere but I couldn't find you and then we saw you in the garden and I felt so—"

"Shut up!" House said, before remembering he was speaking to royalty. Even if it was royalty he'd fucked seven ways from Sunday the night before.

"But—but—"

"You're engaged. You're horny. Your love object isn't around, so why not grab the nearest stranger?"

"You know you don't mean that, John. I can tell you don't mean it. I can tell you're hurt. SSSHhhh!" She froze, as footsteps walked past them outside the curtains. Lowering her voice, Johanna-Wilson said, "I saw it on your face."

"LUNCHEON IS SERVED!" The voice echoed down the halls.

"Well, aren't you the perceptive little minx. I hope Gregory is better in the sack than he looks." House folded his arms, letting his cane dangle.

"I've never been with Gregory," she snapped, making a face. "He…well, I'm engaged to him, so I had best get used to the idea. _Bleecch._" She looked at House, nearly eye to eye with him, brown eyes boring into blue. "You, on the other hand…" She slid one hand down his left leg and then shifted slightly so her hand was above his groin.

"Johanna—" House started to say. Then the idea of doing it practically in public, with the Duke and his plaid cravat in the dining room, probably stuffing himself, was too much for House. He suddenly had a raging hard-on under his breeches and no idea how to undo the damn things. How did anyone get laid around here?

"Actions speak louder than words, John." She continued to rub his groin, a sly smile on her face. "You can't make any noise, you know. Uncle would not be very understanding."

"_Nug_," House responded.

Pulling her bonnet off, Johanna-Wilson sank to her knees, and undid the buttons of his breeches and slid the tails of his white shirt apart. When his penis was exposed, she gave it a tiny flick of her tongue. Oh, God, this was sweet agony. The fact that he had to keep quiet only made it worse—or better, he wasn't sure which.

She put her hand around his length and started gently pumping it, caressing his still-covered balls. "Shhhhhh…" Then she licked the tip.

"_Gah."_

"Be quiet. That's a royal command." Johanna-Wilson proceeded to lick his penis up and down, wiggling her tongue on the tip. House bit his lip and dug his fingers into the stone wall behind him, struggling not to make any sound. She alternated with her tongue and her mouth, only the top of her moving head visible.

"_Ngh."_

"Shh!" She looked up at him, brown eyes flashing, bushy brows furrowed in concentration. "Let's see you keep still now."

With that, she took his entire penis in her mouth, gagging slightly, but it didn't seem to faze her in the slightest. Unable to stop himself, House grabbed her head as it bobbed up and down, faster, then slower, making him weak in the knees with lust. He felt her drool drip out of her mouth because she couldn't close it, and once or twice she had to pull him out so she could take a breath. Then she would go down on him again, faster and faster, as he held her head and tried not to move or make a sound. This was sweet tingling pain, his head was spinning, _damn she was good!_

He moved his hips slightly, letting her do most of the work, partially because he thought he'd fall down if he didn't keep his legs braced. Her mouth sucked, her tongue licked, until he couldn't stand it any longer and exploded into her mouth. All without making a sound.

Johanna-Wilson fell back against the stone wall, puffing and panting. She produced a white embroidered handkerchief and wiped around her mouth. "It's a good thing I love salt," she said with that sly smile.

House pulled her up off her knees and kissed her as hard as he could, tasting his own cum in her mouth. It was disgusting, frankly, but he didn't care. She was _his_, that's all there was to it. Fuck Gregory.

Wait…she had fucked Gregory. And given him one of the best blow-jobs ever. He was Gregory House. Shit, why wasn't her fiancé named Marmaduke?

She smoothed that awful short haircut of hers. "We'd best go in to luncheon, John. Do up your breeches."

"I don't know how," he confessed.

She gave him a maternal look. "You really have forgotten a great deal, haven't you, John?" And proceeded to do up his breech buttons.

"Good for you I remember the important things."

Hand in hand, they stole out from behind the curtain and made their way to the royal dining room.


	12. Chapter 12

Like all of the other rooms, the daytime dining room was absolutely cavernous. Gold scrollwork covered everything: the walls, the ceiling, most of the furniture. There were not many windows, only blue figured wall coverings between the scrollwork.

The huge oak table sat dead center in the room. It accommodated up to 50 guests at one time. But today, sitting at one end, there were only five, by House's count. Prince Louis sat at the head of the table, Princess Johanna-Wilson on his right, Duke Asshole (House couldn't bring himself to call the idiot Gregory) on his left. House was seated next to Johanna-Wilson, and she subtly moved her chair so that her foot could reach his. Her left foot sought his right, and when she found it, she let her foot rest against his. For some reason, House found that extremely comforting.

An elderly woman sat next to Duke Asshole. She looked like lumps of bread dough that had settled into a black gown, with a long black veil and black jet earrings. She had been wheeled in in a primitive wheelchair, and helped into her chair by a pair of servants. Before they sat, House was formerly introduced to her: the Queen Mother, Bertha.

It was obvious from the start that the Queen Mother regarded her nephew the way the wife regards the shiftless brother-in-law who moves in and never moves out.

"How are you, Mother dear?" Prince Louis asked solicitously as she was seated.

"Waiting to die so I never have to look at you again," the Queen Mother snapped. House liked her immediately. "What slop am I being fed for luncheon?"

Prince Louis looked at her with mutual dislike. "Now, Mother dear, you know your stomach. Bread and milk, as always."

"I want a bowl of beef soup!" the old woman squawked. "Every luncheon, every dinner, I have to watch you stuff yourself like a hog at a trough, and I have to eat bread and milk! Not even a cup of tea!"

"Now, Mother dear—"

"She's right," House said.

The assembled company turned their eyes to him. "No one gets proper nutrition from bread and milk, in fact, from the hygiene I've observed around here, she's more likely to get salmonella than she would from a properly cooked roast beef. You could give her a good strong chicken broth, with some carrots that have been cooked soft in it, and—what grains do you people have?—barley, along with some cooked chicken. That would be one thousand times better than that bland crap you've got her on." House noticed she was beaming at him.

"May I take a quick look at your legs?" he asked her.

"I beg your pardon?" the Queen Mother said. "What sort of request is that?"

House remembered where he was. "After lunch? I want to test the strength of your legs. They can weaken from lack of use. Being wheeled around in that contraption all day…I used to be a doctor. Before I went into—" his mind went blank. Army? Navy? Cavalry? "The military."

"My, young man, you certainly seem to know a lot about things," the Queen Mother said. "More than you do, Louis." She shot her nephew a triumphant look. "I desire a bowl of soup. Whatever soup you are serving."

"Yes, Mother dear." Defeated, Prince Louis signaled a servant to serve his mother-in-law a bowl of soup.

Quickly it was proffered, and the Queen Mother all but went at it with her hands, slurping huge gulps from her soup spoon. "This is delicious."

"Oh, Captain, that was wonderful!" Johanna-Wilson burst out next to him. "Is there any field you're not accomplished in?"

"Distance running, I should imagine," Duke Asshole drawled.

House had a momentary fantasy of leaping across the table and drowning the Duke in his soup. "Gregory!" cried the Princess. "Don't speak that way to our guest."

"You call him Gregory," House asked, an evil smile forming on his lips.

"Of course I do. That's his name." Johanna-Wilson looked at House. The momentary fantasy of murdering the Duke was replaced by a momentary fantasy of mounting the princess on the table. Assuming they could push off the dozens of china dishes, serving plates, utensils and the soup tureen.

"Don't you have a pet name for him? Like, er, Tiddles?"

Again, Johanna-Wilson's neck turned crimson. "Of course not."

House's smile widened. "You should. Most young people in love call each other by pet names."

"I don't think this is proper—" Duke Asshole said.

House cut him off. "Look at the Duke. His mien, his features, do they bring anything to mind?"

Johanna-Wilson looked like a deer in the headlights. "Well, I mean, if I had to…"

"Give it a try."

Duke Asshole smiled. "Go on, dearest. You make me think of a graceful, elegant fawn. Perhaps I should call you Fawn?"

"The hell you will!" House barked. He recovered himself, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen. The name Fawn has…unpleasant associations for me. I am sorry for my outburst."

"Could happen to anybody," said the Queen Mother, continuing to beam at him. House had no doubt that if she had been twenty years younger, she would have pounced on him the same way her granddaughter did the night before. Was that only the night before?

"I'll have to think of something else, then," said Duke Asshole. "Dearest, you still haven't said what I remind you of."

"Well, um," Princess Johanna fumbled with her napkin. "A…a potato."

The Duke turned deep scarlet. "A _potato_? You think I resemble a _potato_?"

"A very nice potato?" Johanna-Wilson squeaked.

"She's right, you know, " the Queen Mother added. House sensed he had a powerful ally.

"Well, there you have it!" he crowed. "You have a wide selection of pet names to choose from, your Highness. Baked, Boiled, Mashed, Fried—"

"I refuse to be called a potato," the Duke snarled, and slapped his napkin down on the table. He turned to Prince Louis. "I thank you for a most enjoyable luncheon, but I have lost my appetite." He glared at House. "I am going to the library to write some letters."

"Very good," said Prince Louis, also glaring at House.

"He does look like a potato," Johanna-Wilson said in a small voice.

"Indeed he does, Johanna, you're ever so perceptive," said the Queen Mother, giving House a most unseemly wink.

The rest of the luncheon passed in silence. Prince Louis refused to look up from his plate. It was true, his table manners were appalling. He ate in huge chomping gulps, at times not using one of the dozens of utensils on either side of his plate. House watched Johanna-Wilson closely to see which fork and knife you ate with at each course.

All the time, her foot nestled against his.

He hoped Duke Asshole had a lot of letters to write.


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you again for the reviews! They keep me writing!_

_Summary: There are too many cherubs!_

As the servants cleared the dessert dishes, Johanna-Wilson remarked to House, "I'm going to do some mending in my study. It has ever so marvelous a view. Right outside of the windows, there is a large stone statue of a cherub. You can't miss it."

House hid his snort behind his hand.

He strolled around the palace for a while, trying to get a feel for the place. He saw the entrance to the ballroom he'd found himself in the night before. House could not pick out which window he'd been pulled through. How many people lived in this barn? It might be bigger than PPTH. He deduced that this was what they used to call a "country palace," probably had more woods and lakes than Rhode Island.

There were liveried footmen everywhere he looked, and again, not one of them could have been younger than seventy—probably fifty, he corrected himself. This was a different era; people died younger and tended to look like crap in the meantime. "Cow-Milking Abs" wouldn't be a big seller in this burg, never mind that television—radio—the telegraph—hadn't been invented yet.

Of course, he wasn't allowed to open the front entrance door himself. Two footmen magically appeared and swung the huge door open for him. Outside, thank God, there were no steps, just a flat wide circular driveway that looped around a huge fountain decorated with…more cherubs.

"What is UP with you people?" House asked aloud when he saw the fountain. "What about soldiers, dragons, naked women, anything other than _fucking cherubs_? Did the king who built this place have some sexual fetish about cherubs? WHAT?"

The hedges were cut in rectangular patterns to encircle the driveway. House limped around the detestable fountain to the other side, then turned and looked back at the palace.

Rococo…he'd thought as much when he was inside. The façade was covered with stone vines, carved heads, and statues ringing the top of the main building. The statues weren't cherubs; someone must have told the architect to knock it off.

House estimated it had been built in the 1700s. It was two stories high, the walls painted pale yellow, the trim on the windows painted dark green. Two wings went off either side. Not exactly Mad King Ludwig's Castle Lichtenstein, but pretty damn impressive. Speaking of cherubs, he went off in search of one particular statue.

###########################

House wondered if he would have bothered if he knew the damn cherub statue was almost all the way around the other side of the palace. He had gone past the servants' quarters and actually saw a few females, albeit dressed in the latest in "I work so hard I'm ready to drop"-wear. More gardeners were clipping the hedges to keep them squared off, and raking the lawn. Finally, House spotted the statue, the one he had urinated on. He felt a bit of satisfaction that its head was still discolored. He would have to urinate on it every day as long as he was here.

There were the same huge windows that ringed the rest of the palace. House could see clearly into a room that must be Johanna-Wilson's study. House took up a handful of pebbles to pelt the window, but to be certain, he moved closer.

Johanna-Wilson was facing outward, standing, arguing with someone. From the width of the man's back, House knew it was Prince Louis. Johanna-Wilson looked furious, tears sliding down her cheeks. House watched them argue, but he couldn't hear them with the windows shut. He let the pebbles drop back onto the driveway.

Then she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened slightly, and she gestured with her head that he should move to the other side of the statue. That would take him out of the direct sightline of the study windows. House did, but craned so that he could still see in. He watched as Johanna-Wilson snatched up her bonnet and a cream-colored shawl, and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

House limped as fast as he could to the garden path where he had seen Johanna-Wilson and that jerk-off fiancé of hers. Damn, his leg hurt!

He saw her. She was stomping down the path, head down, bonnet on, the shawl clenched in one hand rather than over her shoulders. Her entire body radiated anger.

"Johanna—" House said.

She whirled around and glared at him. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" she yelled, and continued down the path, walking as fast as she could.


	14. Chapter 14

_I hope you will leave me more reviews, positive or negative. They are what keep me going. This section is __**NOT SAFE FOR WORK**__. Summary: House has changed Johanna's life. And she's not happy about it._

Bitch! She knew he couldn't run after her. House stared after her for a few minutes, then decided, screw it, he was going to hobble after her anyway. If she hadn't wanted to see him, why had she sent him all the way around this enormous dump? No one made Gregory House walk that much and get away with it.

A few minutes later, he was rethinking his resolve. His leg hurt like a sonovabitch. No woman, man/woman, whatever the hell Johanna-Wilson was, was worth this much effort. He'd go back to his bedroom, jerk off, and then wait this whole situation out, until Fate or whatever it was tossed him back to his real life.

It was as if she had heard what he was thinking: abruptly the Princess turned around, about twenty feet ahead of him. Her face was tear-stained. As always, there was that jolt that she looked so much like Wilson.

"Oh, poor John!" she cried, and hurried toward him. "I am so sorry, I forgot it hurts you to walk, but I am so angry, everything was going the way it was supposed to until you came to my birthday celebration"—

"And then I grabbed _you_ and pulled _you_ out onto the veranda, then I came to _your _room in the middle of night and seduced _you,_ then I got _you_ behind the curtains and gave _you_ the best blow-job of your life. Oh, yeah, that was _all _my fault. My bad, your Highness." He blew out a long breath. "And now I've been stupid enough to try to run after you and my leg hurts like a mother."

"You should have known better!" Johanna-Wilson yelled back at him.

"Yeah, like you're some delicate flower it's easy to fight off." House immediately felt sorry he'd said that, but refused to apologize. She deserved it.

Johanna-Wilson flounced to a nearby wooden bench and sat down on it, hard. She rubbed her face, then crossed her arms tightly.

"Everybody thinks I'm so well-behaved, so demure, such a shining example, so friendly, so beautifully-mannered," she said, staring straight ahead. "But I'm not like that at all! I've never been allowed to live my own life, act on any of my desires, I always have to please other people. Never myself."

"Boy, you sound like someone I know." House gingerly sat down on the bench near her but not next to her. In her current mood, she might crack him across the jaw.

"Do this, Johanna, do that, Johanna, marry the Duke because he's the richest landowner in the country and he'll be your prince regent when you become the Queen," she stormed on. "Don't ever appear unladylike, don't ever seem _common_." She swung around to House. "I could stand it. Every day I told myself, it isn't that bad, I'm so fortunate, I have a palace and servants and my grandmother. And I've—you know—with a few boys and men."

"I'll say you have," House said.

Her chocolate eyes continued to stare at him. "You don't understand, why would you? Those others, they were each like a rich piece of cake. It tastes good, one enjoys it while it lasts, but afterwards there's nothing but a stomachache."

"There's a lot to be said for cake, Johanna."

"But that was before you," she said, and tears started to stream down her face again. Her nose was running, but she didn't seem to notice. "Damn you, _damn _you for being so handsome and so—so interesting! And intelligent! The Duke is like a potato in more ways than one. If the matter at hand isn't grain or livestock, his eyes glaze over." She gasped. "_Damn_ you, John!"

Careful lest she take a swing at him, House leaned over and gently kissed her tear-stained cheek. "It's a good thing for you I love salt," he said, and kissed her cheek again.

"Why are you you? Why are you so wonderful?" She was serious. House was seriously shaken. He'd certainly never thought of himself as "wonderful."

"You know me less than you know one of your ancient footmen," House said. "I'm not a very nice person, Johanna, nor do I want to be. I'm twice your age, I—I think I'm a commoner—I'm not interested in being well-behaved."

"You're not a heartless libertine, I can tell that much," she said, taking his hand. "You're sad, and you're bitter, I can also tell that. I don't have any girlish fancies that I can change you in any way. That's why I find you so remarkable."

He squeezed her hand, enjoying watching her blush again. She was an easy blush, that was for sure. "Yeah, I'm captivating," he said sarcastically. "Only because they haven't invented television yet."

"What?"

"It would take all day to explain it to you."

"To blazes with you!" Her plump lower lip trembled.

Suddenly, he began kissing her frantically on the face, licking the tears off her cheeks and chin. She tilted her face to his with a choked sound in her throat, not moving, letting him do what he wanted. He stopped, shocked at himself. What sort of primate thing was that to do? Next he'd be picking nits out of her hair. If she had more hair, that is.

"John," she murmured, and kissed him softly on the neck. House put his arms around her and pulled her closer to him on the bench. "Sitting next to you was unbearable, with—"

"Mr. Potato Head," House said quickly, lest she say his name.

She giggled. "That's perfect! From now on, he is Mr. Potato Head. But I have to marry him, that's the way it is. Royals don't have much choice in anything."

House nodded. What could he say? Her life was her life, and he had no idea why or how he'd fallen into the middle of it. And his feelings for her…he had no idea what they were. They were confusing, more so when he was around her. If he could have taken her here, right on the gravel, he would have.

Instead, with a jerk, he undid the ribbons of her bonnet and pulled it off, so that he could kiss her pink ear and put his tongue in it. Johanna-Wilson groaned, and then they were kissing, passionately, mouths pressing, tongues tangling, as if they could never get enough of each other. He would never be satisfied. She rested in the comfort of his arms as they kissed, one hand gripping his upper arm, her touch scorching him through his frock coat. He fumbled at her waist, but there were probably 100 layers of cloth down there. She shook her head against his mouth, moving herself slightly away from his hand. _Not now,_ she was telling him_. Later._

House pulled back. "So, is this cake, Johanna?"

She smiled at him. "This is ever so much more satisfying than cake. I never want a second piece of cake, but this…you…"

"If only you knew what Snickerdoodle ice cream was," House breathed, and resumed kissing her. He was getting hard, the blood roaring in his ears. His hands brushed her head, feeling the thick hair, the warm scalp, the perfect ears, everything so marvelously right, and yet—

"John," she gasped. "Oh, John, don't stop."

She brushed her face against his, again like a cat, the way she had against his chest the night before, obviously enjoying the scratchy feeling of his beard. Her eyes were closed, and she made a murmuring noise almost like a purr. House's erection was pushing against his tight silk breeches, his entire body was on fire. He wanted her so much, he thought he would have an orgasm right there.

Brown eyes looked into blue.

She spoke very slowly, each syllable distinct.

"This. Is. Not. Cake."


	15. Chapter 15

_Summary: Bertha, the Queen Mother, shows up unexpectedly._

House and Johanna-Wilson were so intent on each other that they did not hear the wheels on the gravel of the path.

"Children!" said the Queen Mother from her wheelchair. Instead of grim disapproval, she was smiling broadly. Unlike the manservant pushing her wheelchair.

"Grandmama, I can explain—" Johanna-Wilson started to say, then dropped her head. "No, I cannot. Draw your own conclusions."

"It's obvious what the conclusion is," House said. "We were making out like teenagers."

"You do speak strangely sometimes," Johanna-Wilson said, her head still down.

"But I think it's marvelous!" the Queen Mother exclaimed. "You've been moping about ever since you became engaged to—"

"Mr. Potato Head," Johanna said. The Queen Mother roared with laughter.

"Oh, that is fine! Mr. Potato Head! It is perfection!" She started to cough, and brought a black lace handkerchief to her lips. "I'm delighted to see my granddaughter enjoying herself, Captain de la Fontaine."

"Thank you, your Highness," House said, bowing his head slightly. His arm was still around Johanna. "I'm guessing you weren't exactly unpopular with the local male inhabitants in your time."

The Queen Mother laughed again. "Oh heavens, the stories I could tell!" Her face grew sad. "Now I have to content myself with an old table leg. The splinters…but you had said you wanted to examine my legs, Captain. You used to be a doctor?"

"I am a doctor," House said. He knew the old bat wanted a lot more than a leg exam.

"Gunther, go take a very long walk," the Queen Mother ordered her manservant. "A very long walk."

"Yes, your Highness," said the servant with a sniff, letting his face show exactly what he thought.

"Gunther probably wanted to give you the leg examination himself," House muttered. "May I take your shoes off?" He dreaded how her feet would smell, not because of her age, but because of how rarely anyone took a bath around here. It crossed his mind to coax Johanna-Wilson to take a bath with him, if they could procure a tub.

"Oh, my!" She giggled. "Call me Bertha. I do hate being called Your Highness every day."

"All right, Bertha, let's get those shoes off. Um, Johanna, could you—"

She mistook his distaste for diplomacy, and undid the laces of her grandmother's high ankle boots. House was right. The smell could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. Nevertheless, he took one pudgy foot in his hand, lifted it, and held her ankle, silently counting.

"What are you doing?" the Queen Mother squealed.

"Shh!" House continued counting. Lowering her foot, he took the other foot in his hand and repeated the process.

"You have an excellent strong pulse, Bertha," House said. "In both legs. Next, I want you to put your right foot against my hand and push against it as hard as you can."

"Very well, Captain." Bertha's face was alight. She did as she was told. The leg was weak, but it was only muscle weakness. The same was true of her other leg. Bertha was enjoying this entirely too much, but the women in this family were a horny bunch.

"Next, I would like you to slowly raise your right leg from the knee and hold it straight out."

"I don't know if I can do that, Captain."

"That's what we're going to find out, Bertha." Thank goodness she wasn't one of his clinic patients, or he would have ripped her a new one for being sedentary and fat. However, she was someone else could have him executed, so he held his tongue.

With a great deal of grunting and moaning (and not the fun kind), she lifted her calf, and then dropped it abruptly. "That hurt," she said reproachfully. Next to House, Johanna idly did the same, without any problem.

"Of course it hurts. You probably haven't moved it since the Crusades. Now do the same with your left leg. I'm the doctor here, not you."

It was even more of an effort for Bertha to move her other leg, but she managed it and then it dropped down. Again Johanna-Wilson imitated her, obviously engrossed.

"Very good," House said. "Now, hold your arms straight out, with your palms facing upward."

"Why?"

"I told you, I'm the doctor."

Bertha did as she was told. Her arms stayed straight without trembling.

"You can lower them," House ordered. "Now, when's the last time you stood up?"

"Stood up?" Bertha gulped. "Without help?"

"Yes, without help." House was losing his patience. "No Gunther, no nothing."

"I don't remember."

"When did you start using that chair?"

Bertha knitted her brows in thought. "It's been so many years. I don't remember. Ah, yes, I twisted my ankle, and I've been in this chair ever since."

"Let me get this straight. You've become almost a paraplegic from a _sprained ankle_?"

"It does sound rather awkward when you put it like that," she pouted. "I get easily winded, and then I have to lie down. I have a delicate constitution."

"You're as delicate as one of those stone cherubs that are all over the place," House snapped. "If I can walk around with this leg, you can walk around with those. They haven't atrophied; they're weak from disuse and laziness."

"I beg your pardon?" Suddenly she looked very much the Queen Mother.

"Bertha, I'm telling you this to extend your lifespan. I mean, make your life longer. You can learn to use your legs again and go wherever you want to. You can country dance. You can chase after underage boys. Or you can stay in that chair and eat bread and milk, but I guarantee you won't see next year's crops."

"John!" Johanna-Wilson said warningly.

"Isn't his name Marmaduke?"

"I call him John," Johanna-Wilson said. "He forgot his name the first time we met. For some reason he keeps wanting to call me—"

"Johanna!"

"Wilson. Isn't that odd?"

_Jesus Christ fixing the roof, why did she have to say that?_ He smiled at the Queen Mother. "A little private joke, your Highness. Call me John. Just not in front of your nephew or Mr. Potato Head."

House proceeded to demonstrate some small exercises Bertha could do, such as lifting her calves and tapping her feet. He wasn't actually able to do most of them, because of his leg, but Johanna-Wilson was more than happy to demonstrate. Gunther was returning. House wondered what he thought of the three of them sitting there, making strange repetitive motions.

"We'll keep an eye on your progress," House said, getting his cane and standing. "And remember to eat food. You can tell your nephew that your doctor said so."

"Thank you, John!" She glanced at her manservant. "I mean, Captain de la Fontaine. I should like to have a nice long talk with you sometime."

"I would enjoy that very much. That reminds me—where can I find the apothecary?" Another thought occurred to House. "That table leg. I could take it to the carpenter and get it sanded."


	16. Chapter 16

House took Johanna-Wilson's arm. The pain in his leg stung. However, he could lean on Johanna-Wilson as well as his cane since she was nearly his height.

"We shouldn't go that way, it will take us right past the library," she said, pointing.

"Is there a door somewhere near here where we can go inside? My leg hurts."

"Oh, all right, we'll go to the apothecary now."

House felt a flutter of excitement. Eth! He wondered how many he could score.

The apothecary was located near the servants' quarters, in the same wing. From the way the servants looked at them, House wondered how much Gerhardt had told everybody as he and the Princess strolled by.

The apothecary's quarters were cramped and dark, filled with an unpleasantly musky smell with an underlying sweetness. A few small rooms, as far as House could make out. The front room walls were entirely shelves and drawers, with jars, bottles and many, many mortars and pestles. House was delighted. Forgetting about the eth for the moment, he strolled around the room, opening and sniffing the jars.

"Materia medica," he said happily, then winced. "Dried dog poop. Summers in New Jersey have made me infinitely familiar with that smell. And I'm guessing this one and that one are both moss."

"You like this," Johanna-Wilson observed. "It's as if you were…you were in your element."

"Nice pun," House remarked, holding up a large mortar and pestle. "I wonder what would happen if I licked this pestle?"

"Your Highness," said the apothecary as he entered. He was a tiny, wizened, very pale man. It was obvious he rarely ventured out into the sun.

"So, what's your Bible? Which Pharmacopoeia, Dublin or Edinburgh?"

"Neither. I write down my own preparations, sir," the apothecary responded.

"Either you're an idiot and most of your patients live."

"_Captain_," Johanna-Wilson said. "Fendel, we need some more crystal eth cakes. The Captain's leg wound gives him constant pain."

Fendel gazed at House with distaste. "Are you certain he needs it?"

"I need it!" House broke in. "My amolydosis…twenty cakes would do for a start."

"Does your Highness feel this is in the Captain's best interest?" Fendel asked Johanna-Wilson. "I usually only give out two at a time, you know."

"If you won't do it, I'll find the quarry and bite off chunks," House said.

She ignored him. "Yes, I know that, Fendel, but I want you to make an exception for Captain de la Fontaine."

"Yes, your Highness," Fendel said sourly, and went to the back of the room to prepare the tablets.

"Do you have to be that impatient in your desire?" she asked House.

_If you knew how much you sounded like Wilson, and not in a good way,_ House thought, but he ignored her, and turned away, preferring to crumble an unknown dried leaf in his hands, then smelling it. It had a slight azalea fragrance. "What's a good aphrodisiac, Fendel? Not that her Highness needs it—"

He heard the door slam, and turned back. He was alone.

Fendel came out, with a small glass bottle. "Your eth, Captain."

House turned back to him. "Thanks, Fendel."

He shook two tablets into his hand and swallowed them.

Bitch.


	17. Chapter 17

House went back to his bedroom, to think he told himself. But he knew it was really to sulk. He deserved a good sulk. He heard a movie announcer's deep rumbling voice in his head: _Trapped In A World He Never Made…_

House had always snickered at phrases like that the few times he went to the movies. But that about summed it up. What were his options?

He could steal a carriage and get the hell out of Dodge. But where would he end up? Who even know if this world extended beyond the grounds of the palace? It would help if he knew the name of the fucking country.

After a while, he popped another eth tablet. It made his thinking fuzzy, which he welcomed. If only he had a guitar. Or a harpsichord. Even a zither.

Slowly, he sank into an eth-induced doze. When he awakened, it was growing dark outside. House's stomach rumbled, but this wasn't a place where you went down to the royal pantry and grabbed a slice of cheese out of the fridge. Eating dinner in this burg meant having to climb into one of those fancy-dress uniforms, sitting with all of those idiots, and facing that holier-than-thou Johanna-Wilson. Twerp.

When Gerhardt came to dress him for dinner, House asked, "Is there any way I could have dinner up here?"

"But the family is expecting you, Captain de la Fontaine."

"They'll have to get the thrill of seeing me some other time. "Is Duke Retard—I mean, Moutarde—still here?"

"No, sir, he returned to his estate."

House nodded. After a moment, he said, "So, can you bring the victuals here?"

Gerhardt looked uncomfortable, but nodded. "Yes, sir. I can bring you your meal on a tray, if that's what I wish."

"That's what I wish. And no visitors." A thought struck House. "Are there any zithers in this castle?"

"I don't know what that is, sir."

"A musical instrument."

"Oh!" Gerhardt rubbed his chin.

"Any musical instruments. Something I can play in here. No viola da gambas, they're too big."

"I will see what can be arranged, sir," Gerhardt said. "There are musicians employed here, one of them will probably be honored to let you borrow one of their instruments."

"No flutes, either!"

"Yes, sir." Bowing, Gerhardt left the bedroom.

When he returned, he looked quite flustered. "I gave His Highness your message that you would not be coming down." He lowered his voice. "Her Highness requested I give you this note."

House unfolded the cream-colored paper. "Thanks, Gerhardt."

Wow, Johanna-Wilson's handwriting was as girly as Wilson's. Especially if Wilson had had to write with a quill.

_Captain Marmaduke __Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards__de la Fontaine_

_I Order You To Attend Dinner_

"I can order her to go fuck herself," House muttered.

"Sir?"

"Is there a pen around here?"

"There is a pen and inkwell on the writing desk, sir." Gerhardt gestured to the other side of the bedroom.

"Thanks. Hang on and you can take this to her Royal Jerkiness."

Gerhardt waited nervously while House wrote. Writing with a quill was not easy, but House's message was short and to the point.

**NO**, he wrote on the other side of the paper.

"Here." He folded it and handed it to Gerhardt. "Make sure the Queen Mother's watching when you give this to Johanna."


	18. Chapter 18

**WARNING: ADULT CONTENT! NOT SAFE FOR WORK! DO NOT READ WHILE DRIVING! I do not own House. I do, however, own everything else. Nyah-nyah-nyah,**

When the door swung open, House wasn't surprised that it was Johanna-Wilson and not Gerhardt. But he had forgotten that she could have him executed.

When he looked at her, all thoughts of being beheaded scattered.

She was dressed in a green gown, the exact color of all of Wilson's favorite polo shirts. The exact color. How did she know? And it looked mighty fine on her, too.

"How dare you?" she spat.

"Nobody ever decline a dinner invitation of yours before?" House dropped back into his armchair.

"No, they have not. And that was not an invitation, it was a command."

"I thought as much. But my answer is still no. Bad enough you scowling at me disapprovingly, I can imagine your uncle doing the same and your grandmother trying to play find the toe under the table. I shall pass, your Highness."

"Well, you—you have to—" Johanna-Wilson put her hands on her hips. Oh, no, House was getting horny again. Since when had he turned into a teen-age boy? But then, since when had Wilson turned into Johanna?

"Have to what?" House was enjoying himself. She looked like her head would explode.

"You have to—do what I want!"

"No, I don't. Maybe everybody else in this Rococo cherub-covered cave does, but not me. I limp to a different drummer."

She turned away from him and rubbed her face in frustration, then turned back. "John—"

"It's Marmaduke, remember?" God, it felt good to torment somebody again. Her expression was priceless. "Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. See? I can remember my whole name now, Mommy."

"I refuse to call you Marmaduke!" Her hands balled into fists.

"Then how about…Gregory?"

"EYAAH!" She grabbed the porcelain vase nearest her (another goddamned cherub) and threw it as hard as she could across the room. It smashed into the mirror nearest the bed, shattering both itself and the mirror.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Oh, dear," Johanna-Wilson murmured. And then House pounced on her.

"What are you—how can you—HEY!" Johanna-Wilson yelped as House's arms went around her waist.

"Do you have any idea how hot that makes me?" House said, grinning.

"Why?"

"How do I know? And what do you care?" He kissed her, hard.

"Marmaduke—"She started pushing at him to get away.

"Call me John." House debated telling her his real name was Gregory, but she might do him some real physical harm. He grabbed her right arm and twisted it behind her. Not enough to hurt, but enough so that she knew who the boss was. "It's good to be the king," he said, chuckling.

"What are you talking about? Unhand me!"

"Seriously? Do women really say 'unhand me'?"

"_I'm_ saying it!" Her eyes were shining, and not from tears. She actually looked dangerous. And she was nearly his size. "Let me go!"

"Only if you call me John again," House said.

"No, Marmaduke."

"Oh, God, that name! How could you people reproduce with names with Marmaduke and Bertha? Call me John!"

"No!" She squirmed to escape his grasp, when his bad leg gave out and he fell over onto her. They both toppled to the ground with a loud thud.

It took all of the fight out of House. And all of the fight out of Johanna-Wilson, if looks could be trusted. She looked completely baffled.

"I—I never behave in that manner," she said, as if to herself.

"The hell you don't."

"No, I don't!" She looked at him, and he could see she was genuinely shocked. "I don't lose my temper, I don't raise my voice, I don't—"

"You could have fooled me, Johanna." House lay where he fell, but propped himself up on his elbows and gazed at her. Then he hitched his head toward the mirror. She gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"I did _that_?_"_

Before House would answer, Gerhardt entered, holding a tray with a napkin over it.

"Your dinner, Capt—"

House had to admire the way the Princess regained her dignity, even if she was lying on the floor. "Thank you, Gerhardt," she said coolly. "You may place it on the table."

"Yes, your Highness."

"And Gerhardt, arrange first thing tomorrow to have this room thoroughly cleaned. I don't want the Captain to get a splinter of glass in his foot."

"Yes, your Highness." He looked questioningly at House.

"Thank you, Gerhardt." House motioned with his head for Gerhardt to leave.

"Yes, your Highness, thank you, Captain, thank you—"Gerhardt quickly did as he was told.

Johanna-Wilson buried her head in her hands. "Oh, what will the servants say?"

"What do you care? Same stuff they're probably already saying."

They were lying nearly next to each other on the floor. House reached over and pulled her hand from her face. "Come on, Johanna, if it will make you feel any better, there's one less cherub in the palace."

She smiled at him. "Thank goodness for that." She paused. "I don't understand why there are so many cherubs and seraphim here. My great-grandfather had it built."

"Maybe his architect had a winged baby fetish." He was still holding her arm, so he ran his finger down her forearm.

"You are so delightfully bad, John." In delight, she kissed him quickly on the mouth.

"Aw, you called me John," he said, imitating a love-sick moron.

Again, she kissed him quickly on the mouth. "Be quiet. You'll spoil everything with your talking."

"Spoil what?"

This time, her kiss bore down on his mouth, and she tangled her hands in his hair. House rolled so that he was on top of her. Pain shot through his right thigh.

"Damn. I need an eth."

"No, you do not. You've had enough eth already. I can see the bottle from here." Her hands still in his hair, she pulled his mouth down to hers. "Think about me instead. Think about all of the things I can do to you, and that you can do to me." She licked around his lips.

"But I need—"

"No." Johanna-Wilson moved her hands so that she was holding onto him, the way he had held her when they were standing. "Go ahead, try to get away from me."

House started to resist, but his genitals told him otherwise. _Okay, little Greg, you win. _He ground his hips down against hers, once again feeling himself get hard. As he did, she relaxed her grip, but didn't let go completely. House knew that was because she expected him to make a dive for the eth bottle. Again, for reasons he did not know, this made him incredibly horny. With his thumbs he smoothed her thick, brown eyebrows, ran a finger down her nose, traced the shape of her lips. She grabbed the finger in her mouth and sucked on it gently, her eyes closed.

"You touch those pills you're a dead man," she muttered around his finger.

"At the rate we're going, you're going to fuck me to death," House replied. "God…damn…breeches!"

"Maybe we should call Gerhardt," Johanna said, giggling, and again undoing his breeches. "Or Camille. That's my principal lady in waiting. She looks remarkably like Gerhardt. If she wasn't wearing a dress, I should get them confused."

"I know just how you feel," House groaned, feeling his breeches being pulled down. He let Johanna slowly roll him off of her onto the floor, while one of her hands gently stroked his penis. "You are making sure I'm not going anywhere," he croaked. She tugged down his breeches until they were down around mid-thigh. House couldn't see a thing because of her ample skirts, but oh, could he feel it as she cautiously straddled him, her hand carefully navigating around the layers of material so that she was still holding him.

"Ow! That angle hurts!"

"Did I touch your wound?" she looked anxious.

"No, my dong. You pulled it the wrong way."

"I'm sorry, John, but it is rather difficult with all of my petticoats. Here, let me—"

She reared up on her knees and arranged her skirts. Again she took a grip of his penis and slowly slid her hand up and down, using his precum to moisten it. House reached up, taking her around the waist, letting himself enjoy what Johanna-Wilson was doing to him. What the hell, he'd worked like a Trojan up 'til now. He laughed softly at the pun. She looked at him inquiringly, but he shook his head.

Slowly, as if they had all of the time in the world, she stroked him, balancing herself on her knees, looking down at House. Several times she had to tug the edge of her green skirt away from his mouth, whispering an apology as she did so.

"How many silkworms had to die so you could wear this dress?" House muttered at one point, but she shushed him, continuing her languorous hand movements. He felt himself becoming engorged, and more excited by the minute. It was wonderful to have someone else doing all of the work.

When he was completely and utterly hard, she took her hand off his penis, and carefully lifted herself up from her kneeling position using her left leg, steadying herself on the ground with the other hand. House lay still, throbbing, not daring to move. The silk of the dress was getting dampened by his palms.

Still steadying herself with her right hand, she reached under her skirt with her left hand and again took hold of his member. Her fingers were hot to the touch, and he shuddered. He closed his eyes, feeling her guide him inside her, making sure she did not pull him in the wrong direction again, so that his penis was nearly straight up. Slowly, she lowered herself, letting her left leg slide down. House felt the hot wetness enclosing him, the feeling of her legs and buttocks, until she had completely encased him inside.

"You like that?" came the soft whisper. "You tell me you _like_ it."

"I like it," House groaned, keeping his eyes closed, drowned in a sea of sensual pleasure. His hands were still around her waist, he could feel her breathing.

"I thought so." There was a soft chuckle, and then slowly the legs lifted up and down, up and down, at times so high he almost popped out, but always lowering before that could happen. House moaned, his eyes fluttering open. All he could see was green, the green of the enormous skirt, the green of the bodice, so much cloth he couldn't see anything else. He grabbed the hem in his teeth and bit down on it; it was the only thing he could reach.

Johanna-Wilson was riding him like a horse, smoothly lifting and lowering as if she were having a canter down the bridle path. _God, you must have strong thighs_, House thought, starting to tremble. His entire body was pumping and clenching as she lifted and lowered, lifted and lowered. His hands never left her waist. Through them he felt her body jerk and shudder. Abruptly she ground down on his groin, moving her own in circles on his, and he felt her hands hitting the ground on either side of him.

"Oh…my…lord…" she was panting. "John, oh, yes, _yes_…"

He came almost instantly, surprised, his entire body going stiff as a board. He felt the floor under his back as the waves of orgasm jolted through him over and over. She wasn't stopping, moving faster, forcing him to stay hard, until she climaxed herself, gasping.

Slowly she climbed off him, pulling her skirts across his naked groin as she did so. Even that felt good.

She collapsed on the ground next to him. House looked down past his feet and found himself looking straight at the shattered mirror.

He smiled.


	19. Chapter 19

It wasn't only his leg that was aching when House awoke the next morning. His whole body was sore, particularly his back. What was he thinking at his age, having sex on the floor? He should have at least put a few pillows down.

He was lying face down on the bed, his white shirt still on, but his cravat and all of his other clothes off. House knew that Gerhardt hadn't taken them off. He dimly remembered Johanna-Wilson removing his clothes. She helped him to the bed, and let him have an eth tablet before he basically passed out from exhaustion. Again, what was he thinking? Johanna-Wilson really was going to fuck him to death.

House lifted his head, his mouth sticky. He licked his teeth while he looked around the bedroom. Same ornate bedroom, so he was still where this was. Near the bed were the shattered mirror and the smashed cherub vase. House looked at where the bottle of eth tablets had been left on the pink marble mantelpiece.

They were not there.

"Hey!" he yelled aloud angrily at the air. House pushed himself up off the bed, then grabbed his sore leg and limped to where the bottle was supposed to be. Where the hell did he leave his cane?

There were two eth tablets where the bottle had been, and a note. House snatched the tablets and swallowed them, then made it to the door. "GERHARDT!" he yelled out into the corridor. Then he collapsed into the armchair, cursing the Princess in his head. Sanctimonious bitch had taken the bottle when she left. How did she know how much pain he was in or how many pills he needed? And why was he feeling déjà-vu?

Fortunately for Gerhardt, the manservant answered House's yell after the eth had a chance to kick in.

"Good morning, sir," he said, bowing.

"The hell it is," House snarled. "Gerhardt, I need another bottle of those eth cakes or whatever you call them."

Gerhardt noticeable cringed. "I am sorry, Captain de la Fontaine, but her Highness gave me express orders not to give you any more. She said you were already taking too much."

"Since when is that sex-crazed man-woman the boss of me, Gerhardt? I'm in pain! I need eth!"

"I cannot disobey her Highness, sir. Would you care for some breakfast?"

"No." House glared at the burned part of the carpet. It seemed only right that every time Johanna-Wilson came to his bedroom, something ended up burned, broken or stolen. He longed for the womb-like quietness of his own apartment, the leather couch, the piano, and most of all, the complete lack of other humanity.

Gerhardt waited, obviously too scared to say anything else. House waited until the silence felt absolutely congealed.

"I want to take a bath," House barked. "A hot bath, in a tub. And I'm ordering you not to let her Highness within a MILE of me if she doesn't want to get a cane upside her head!"

"Yes, sir."

"And get me my cane!"

"Yes, sir."

"And get this damn mess cleaned up. I don't know if I'd had a tetanus shot in this world."

Gerhardt regarded him for a moment. "Yes, sir. Do you want me to find you a tetanus shot? If you tell me what it looks like—"

"No, you idiot! Bunch of backwards imbeciles. Hot bath. NOW!"

_"Ah, sweet mystery of life at last I've found you,__  
__Ah, at last I know the secret of it all..."__  
_House sang softly to himself as he washed. He'd wracked his brains for a suitable song from "Naughty Marietta." Somehow "Stouthearted Men" wasn't quite what he wanted.

House had guessed he would get at best a lukewarm bath. And he guessed right. The hot water had to be carried from the scullery downstairs, and by the time it arrived, it had cooled to barely above room temperature. The bath chamber wasn't so bad; at least it was private, set off his room, and the tub was iron-covered porcelain as far as he could tell. It wasn't long enough to stretch out in. Of course it wouldn't be, House reasoned; these were used for occasional cleanliness, not relaxation. He had a few small bruises here and there, but it was his muscles that were sore. If only this bathtub was large enough and he could submerge himself in steaming hot water. His damaged leg had to stay bent while he washed himself with the lye soap he had also had to demand. The smell wasn't pleasant but at least House knew he was getting clean, more or less.

Gerhardt helped House back to the main bedroom, where his clothes were laid out on the freshly made bed. It was then that House remembered the note on the mantel where his pills should have been.

"Gimme the note up there."

"Yes, sir."

House snatched it away from his manservant. Yep, same cream colored paper, but this was folded and sealed with a wax stamp. "My, my, aren't we precious," he growled, ripping it open.

_**Dear John ~**_

_**You are invited to accompany me to the village, if you so desire. And if you desire more eth cakes.**_

_** HRH Johanna**_

Despite himself, House laughed. Johanna-Wilson knew exactly how to bait her hook.


	20. Chapter 20

Despite the pain in his leg, House realized that he was ravenously hungry. He had not eaten since lunch the day before, and the previous days had been strenuous, to say the least. Gerhardt quickly brought his master a plate of bacon, cooked until it was almost black, and two fried eggs, ditto. House figured that cooking everything until it was scorched was the best way to avoid food poisoning, even if it did taste ghastly.

After he had eaten, he and Gerhardt went through the strenuous process of getting him back into his uniform. Gerhardt advised House that it was necessary, if he was going to the village, to look like the soldier he was. Or wasn't, as the case may be. He refused the scabbard. "That's overkill," he snapped at Gerhardt. No way was he going to have that thing banging against his bad leg all day, peasants or no peasants. Now that House was oriented to his surroundings, he also realized that the damn helmet weighed a ton, but Gerhardt assured him that it too was necessary. House gave a firm thumbs down to wearing the broad purple sash, however.

However, when he was all suited up, despite looking like one of the Village People, House thought he looked pretty good. The short jacket was red, with gold trim and white cuffs with gold buttons. The collar was high and white. There were little skirt-like thingies that flapped down in the front and back, also trimmed in gold. He was wearing tight white breeches, but because of the long boots, he could veto the stockings. Nobody here would care if his feet were sweaty.

Except for the damn helmet. That was really gay. Thank God Foreman or Taub couldn't see him right now.

He smiled to himself as he made his way down the main stairs, even though it hurt. Johanna-Wilson would fall all over herself when she saw him, and then he could talk her into more than two eth cakes.

That hope was dashed when House came outside and saw the royal carriage. It was a black closed carriage with glass pane windows, two drivers seated on a box in the front, two huge wheels in the back and two smaller wheels in the front. There were those goddamned cherubs again, painted on the sides and top!

"Good morning, Captain," Johanna-Wilson said, peeking out at him from under a green bonnet. The carriage door was open.

"Good morning, Captain," said Duke Gregory Boef-Sandwich-Moutarde, who was sitting next to Johanna-Wilson.

Shit.

"We're going for a drive down to the village," Duke Potato-Head continued. "The Princess has to deliver some mending to the foundling home. Pity you cannot accompany us, but there is only room for two."

"No, it's large enough—" Johanna Wilson said, but Duke Potato-Head cut her off.

"I said, dearest, there is only room for two." There was an unpleasant edge in the Duke's nasal voice. House wished he had rethought the scabbard.

"Your Highness, what about the matter of…you know," House mimed taking a pill.

Johanna-Wilson started. "Oh! Yes! I completely forgot!" She fumbled in her reticule, and brought out a linen handkerchief. She handed it over Gregory to House.

"What was that?" snapped the Duke.

"The Captain dropped something. A button. I meant to return it to him this morning."

"A button." The Duke shut the door, thumped on the top of the carriage, and it rumbled away down the driveway.

House opened the handkerchief. ONE ETH CAKE? Johanna-Wilson expected him to get through an entire day on one pill? He had no doubt she had the rest of them with her, the scheming twat. He swallowed it, and made his way up the stairs back into the palace, grunting with pain. At that moment he hated Johanna-Wilson more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

House hadn't gone far when an ancient footman approached him.

"Captain de la Fontaine, his Highness wishes to have a word with you."

"Can he wait until I take off this clown costume?"

The footman gazed at House, baffled. "What clown costume, sir?"

"Never mind. Lead me to him." House could at least take off the helmet. His hair was already damp with sweat. They went past the ballroom, to a pair of huge doors. With quite a bit of panting and effort ("No, it's all right, sir, I can get it!") the footman swung the door open.

"You have _got_ to be kidding."

Prince Louis sat on a throne in the center of the far wall. It was draped in heavy red velvet, held back by golden ropes, the inside fabric white and gold. The rest of the chamber was decorated in white and gold. House had the dizzying feeling that this could not be happening, that it was simply too ridiculous. He was standing in full military uniform in the most tasteless room he had ever seen, facing a stout man in his fifties who looked as if he could use a hemorrhoid cushion. Prince Louis was dressed all in deep blue with white stockings, and sweating.

"Ah, Captain de la Fontaine," the Prince said without friendliness.

"Here I am, your Highness," House answered. "Lovely room. You could play football in here, if you didn't mind smashing a cherub or two. Listen, is there somewhere I can sit down? It hurts to stand for very long."

"You can stand for what I have to say to you."

"That's what you think."

"Your insolence toward me is not going unnoticed, Captain." Prince Louis shifted on the throne, obviously uncomfortable. "When they brought you here at my request, I was under the impression that, as a decorated hero, you would have impeccable manners. That has not been the case."

"When was I brought here?" House asked eagerly.

"Oh, a few days ago, I don't know," the Prince responded. "You had saved your entire regiment, and were due to receive the highest honor in the land…the Golden Lion Of Valor. But according to your men, you suddenly fell to the ground in a fit, and none of them could get near you until you fainted."

House racked his brains, but he couldn't remember anything before the ballroom. "What kind of fit? Epileptic seizure, dystonia, hysteria?"

"A fit," said the Prince impatiently. "Most unbecoming of an officer, I must say. You didn't seem to know where or who you were, according to your lieutenant. It was thought that the best thing for you was a rest in the country. Since there is to be a ceremony honoring you with the Golden Lion of Valor, you were brought here. It is a decision I deeply regret."

House pondered the Prince's words. A fit? Had he changed bodies with someone else? Was some pompous 18th century officer trying to order Taub to fetch him some mead?

"I'm sorry that you feel that way, your Highness. Could you tell me…what do I look like?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know, those movies where the hero sees himself in the mirror but everyone else sees somebody else—forget it, just answer me. What do I look like?"

"You are a very peculiar man, Captain. Very well. You're tall, slim, you have blue eyes, hair of an indeterminate color, and a short beard sprinkled with gray. And you limp."

"Oh, thank God." House breathed a sigh of relief. "Please, is there a chair anywhere in this room? A loveseat?"

"No." The Prince leaned back. "Captain, there needs to be an understanding between us. My niece is to marry Duke Gregory Beouf-Sandwich-Moutarde. The Duke is not only of good family, he is the largest landowner in this part of the country. Princess Johanna will be kept extremely busy tending to her home, her work in the village, and her family."

House stared at him. "But she is to be the Queen."

"All in good time, Captain."

"And in the meantime, you rule in her stead."

"Yes. Johanna is far too young and foolish to take on the duties of the monarchy." The Prince leaned forward. "In fact, I am certain you have noticed that she is…um, a simpleton."

"I have noticed no such thing, your Highness." House wasn't entirely sure he meant it, but still…"So, you like power. You like being the King, even if you can't have the title."

"Impertinence! I am only thinking of my niece's best interests."

"Yes, stick her in the middle of nowhere with that moron while you rule the country. Maybe with any luck you'll get married and produce an heir. Wait, only Johanna can do that, can't she? Or are you going to go all Henry the Eighth on her ass and proclaim a new religion?"

"Silence!" the Prince yelled. House remembered that this was yet another person who could have him executed. It seemed like the only person who couldn't was Gerhardt.

House stared at the Prince. "You love power," he said. "But you're also guilty and uncomfortable with it. You know you're doing the wrong thing, but you keep telling yourself you're doing what's best. That's why you squirm around on that thickly padded throne like it was a bed of nails. You know you don't deserve it."

"Be quiet! Johanna was content with her lot. Until you came along, Captain. Don't think I don't notice the way she looks at you, and the way you look at her. Since you arrived she has become rebellious. Why, she even told me she would not marry the Duke! As if that was her decision to make! Captain, as long as you are under my roof, you are not to speak to Johanna, or be alone with Johanna, or anything else with Johanna. Or Golden Lion or no Golden Lion, by God I will have your head."

House stared at the Prince for a long moment. This man really was counting on his niece's stupidity to have himself remain on the throne. He was counting on her to enter into a loveless marriage, have a brood of brats…and then what? Any of those no-necked monsters would be the rightful heir to the throne, just as Johanna was. What was the Prince going to do then? Lock them all in towers?

There was no doubt in House's mind that Prince Louis was fully capable of it.

"What about a chaperone. In case I run into her."

Prince Louis considered for a moment. "She will be chaperoned. But be careful."

House bowed and agreed to have nothing to do with Johanna, and limped out of the throne room, his mind churning.


	21. Chapter 21

"I am sorry, sir, but I cannot give you any more eth cakes with her Highness's consent," Fendel said, his hands on the counter. "And if memory serves, I gave you twenty of them yesterday."

"That bi—the Princess took them with her. She's in the village. I'm in pain, Fendel. Come on, who's going to know? I won't say anything if you won't." House wanted to strangle the little man. "Or tell me where the quarry is."

"Hundreds of miles from here, Captain. I can give something else for the pain. It will not be as strong—"

"I want ETH!" House slammed his fist on the counter.

"Sorry, Captain. My hands are tied." Fendel's gaze was calm.

"You make my mouth water," House snarled, and limped out of the apothecary.

Goddamn the Princess. Why would he want to have anything to do with her? She was probably carrying that bottle with her right now.

The air was balmy, the sun was out, but House wished he could sit in a dark room, by himself and try to figure all of this out. Everything was a puzzle. Puzzles he had no idea how to solve.

He limped along, past the servants' quarters, toward the gardens. House's leg throbbed and stung.

"Captain de la Fontaine!"

House looked up, and saw the Queen Mother being wheeled toward him by Gunther. Who, as usual, looked as though he had a stick shoved up his ass. The Queen Mother was flagging him down. As before, she was dressed entirely in black, with a black shawl around her sloped heavy shoulders.

"Good morning, your Majesty."

"Good morning, Captain. Why are you in full uniform?"

"I was supposed to go to the village with your granddaughter. However, I was bumped from the roster by Duke Potato-Head."

"Oh, that's terrible. Poor Johanna. She's going to have a miserable day."

"So am I. She took my eth cakes, Bertha. My leg hurts so much I can hardly see straight."

"You poor man!" Bertha folded her hands in her non-existent lap. "Why would Johanna take your eth cakes?"

"It was a mistake," House lied. "I was supposed to be with her, and she was carrying them. So here I am, in pain, no eth, and the apothecary says I need royal permission to get more."

"And so you shall. Gunther!" The Queen Mother waved her hand. "Go to the apothecary at once, and tell that little man that the Queen Mother has requested two—"

"Ten," House interrupted.

Bertha gave him a look. "Ten eth cakes. He is not allowed to refuse unless he wishes to be hung upside down over a snake pit."

"Yes, your Majesty. Ten eth cakes." Gunther gave House a long look that said, _I know you're an addict_, and headed off.

House took the Queen Mother's hand and kissed it. "Thank you so much, your Majesty."

She giggled. "Oh, please, Captain, do call me Bertha. And I'll call you John." She giggled again.

"Have you been doing your exercises?"

"Oh, yes! Would you like to feel my legs?"

House forced a smile. "Why don't we say in a few more days. You keep up those exercises and you'll have the best gams in the kingdom."

"Gams," Bertha repeated. "Gams. I like that. Is that what soldiers call them?"

"Yes. Bertha, I have another request for you. And it's a secret request."

"I love secrets!"

"Yes, I guessed that." House lowered his voice. "This is between the two of us, Bertha. The Prince has forbidden me to see Johanna, or speak to her. _But_…I can if there is a chaperone."

"In heaven's name, why?" The Queen Mother shook her head. "My nephew is a great disappointment. He always was. When he was a boy, his sister _always_ beat him at lawn tennis, card games, everything. And—"She stopped and her gaze turned inward. "Well, let us say that Louis is a very poor loser." She stared past House. "Why shouldn't a young healthy girl like Johanna enjoy herself a bit before she's sold off in marriage like a prize pig at a county fair?"

"My thoughts exactly," House said, continuing to smile. He laid his hand over hers, looking into her small black eyes. "We need a chaperone. And that chaperone is _you_. Because you _understand_ this sort of thing."

Bertha returned his stare, and smiled lasciviously. "You can trust my utmost discretion, John." She looked up. "Ah, here is Gunther with the eth cakes."

House snatched the bottle from Gunther and shook two tablets into his mouth.

In the end, the Queen Mother had insisted that House help her with her exercises. Afterwards, he found a pump and washed his hands.

Once he was back inside the palace, he remembered how Duke Asshole had flounced off to the library. So there was a library in this over decorated Rococo heap. After asking a footman, House limped down the long main corridor until he came to the library.

It was obvious that this was meant to be a masculine setting. Stuffed deer heads and antlers ringed the room, comfortable armchairs all about, and the stale smell of cigar smoke. A large desk occupied one end of the room. No books. That didn't surprise House; he was sure most of the idiots who lived here could barely read.

House went over to the desk and opened the drawers, but there was nothing of any consequence in them. Only writing paper. However, in one drawer, there was linen writing paper decorated with a coat of arms. House lifted a sheet of the stationery and stared at it. He blinked, and stared at it again. Then he let it slip from his fingers and flutter to the floor.

The coat of arms was two large fish, intertwined. Above them it read:

HRH PRINCE LOUIS XI

And in the coat of arms, the scroll under the fish read:

CASTLE MANQUE, PRINCETON


	22. Chapter 22

House was bathed in a cold sweat when he returned to his bedroom. It was the only place he felt safe here.

Princeton? This place was called _Princeton?_ _What the hell?_ There weren't any castles in Princeton. There was no royalty in New Jersey; it was America, for Christ's sake. Why was this place called Princeton?

House figured he was losing his mind. Again. Maybe he was still having a fit on the battlefield. Maybe he was having a fit at the hospital. Maybe it was the eth tablets. The Vicodin had made him hallucinate, but this was so…complete.

He looked down at his booted left foot, and rotated it. House felt his bare foot inside the leather, felt the leather against his skin. He pinched the skin of his hand with his other hand. It hurt.

But suppose he wasn't losing his mind. Suppose this country really was called Princeton. He had always been the man who believed in logic, in coincidences. This left coincidence in the dust. This was seriously fucked up.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Gerhardt entered, carrying a covered tray. "Your luncheon, sir." He set the tray down on the table.

House stood up, using his cane for support, and moved quickly over to the table. Snatching the napkin off of the food, he stared at the tiny cooked squabs on the plate. Then he picked one up and crushed it in his fist, feeling the tiny bones, the meat, and the trickle of grease on his wrist.

Gerhardt by now seemed to have lost the capacity for surprise where House was concerned. "Shall I remove the utensils, sir?"

"No, no, Gerhardt." House let the mess drop back onto the plate, then licked his fingers. "Tell me something. Is this place called Princeton?"

"Yes, sir. Princeton-By-The-Sea."

"And what continent are we on?"

"We're not, sir. Princeton is an island. We are surrounded by the ocean on all sides. Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Gerhardt. Just—just leave me alone and let me think."

"Yes, sir, as you wish." Gerhardt bowed and left the room.

House picked up the mashed squab, and sucked on the bits of meat. This couldn't be imaginary. It tasted too good.

After he finished eating, House took two more eth tablets and sat back in the armchair, waiting for the sweet relief from pain and thinking.

Except that he could not stop thinking.

What about Johanna-Wilson? Had all of the sex been in his mind? Then why did his whole body ache? Maybe he was actively fighting restraints at this very moment, babbling incoherently about palaces and royalty and dirty-minded Queen Mothers. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe….he began to sing softly.

"_Maybe, baby, I'll have you_

_Maybe, baby, you'll be true_

_Maybe, baby, I'll have you some day_

'_Cause you are the one who makes me sad_

_And you are the one that makes me glad_

_I wish some day—"_

House sat straight up, astonished. What was that? Okay, so Johanna looked like Wilson, talked sort of like Wilson, smelled like Wilson. Did that mean he was in love with Wilson? Was he in love with Joanna? Was he in love at all? House again considered the possibility he was losing his mind. Been there, done that, worn the restraints, he reminded himself. Love was not in House's emotional vocabulary. Sure, he was jealous of the Duke, he felt possessive of Johanna-Wilson, but that was hardly the basis for picking out china patterns. She was a fantastic lay, that was all.

Should he tell Johanna that her marriage was being arranged to keep her for becoming the Queen, and that she would probably end up dead or locked in a tower? Maybe Prince Louis would let her have her family and her land and her (ugh) husband. Maybe Johanna was fine with all of it, as long as she didn't know about the death part. But what could he do?

Nothing. The castle might have been on top of a mountain for all he knew. House remembered when he was a child, he thought his teachers left the school and vanished into ether, until they showed up the next morning. Maybe there was something similar to that going on here.

If only House could turn off his mind. He considered taking more eth, but not knowing exactly what it was, he didn't know what the side-effects might be. So far so good.

Again, Gerhardt knocked softly at the door.

"It can't be time for dinner already, Gerhardt," House said, not turning around.

"It's not Gerhardt."

House whipped around and saw Johanna-Wilson, green bonnet still on, quietly closing the door behind her.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he was up on his feet, grabbing her shoulders and kissing her as hard as he could. Johanna-Wilson gave a little squeak of surprise, but then she threw her arms around him and kissed him back. His tongue forced her teeth open, and then he tickled her soft palate with it.

"Hee!" Johanna-Wilson jerked her head back. "That tickled!"

It was as if they literally could not pull apart from each other. House continued kissing her, his hands running up and down the back of her dress, and she was rubbing her hands over his shoulders, her body squashed into his as much as her dress would allow. The old Groucho Marx line, _If I got any closer I'd be behind you_, ran through House's mind. He kissed and nibbled her neck, the dark hairline at the edge of it. She moaned, tilting her head back so that he could continue kissing and nibbling. House felt himself getting hard again…well, the eth did nothing to interfere with that part of his body. But this was insane. He couldn't get enough of Johanna-Wilson. He wanted to undo that damn dress and however many layers of undergarments she had on, push her on the floor and fuck her senseless.

"I want to fuck you until you can't remember your own name," he whispered into her hair.

"I want you to," she whispered back. She was pushing her hips into him, again trying to straddle his erection, but there were simply too many clothes in the way. "Please, please…"

House couldn't take it anymore. He saw a plain wooden chair nearby and pulled it over, his bad leg almost costing him his balance. He sat down on it and gazed at Johanna-Wilson.

"Undo my breeches."

She did as she was told, and he commanded her to pull off his leather boots. He had role-played with hookers, but this was different. It was unbearably stimulating. Then she pulled off his breeches, her eyes going wide when she saw the ugly scar on his right thigh.

"Come here." House pulled her to him and kissed her again, because he didn't want her to ask him questions about his leg. She reached up to undo her bonnet, but he pushed her hands away.

"Leave it. Get on top of me," House said.

Silently, she gathered up her skirts and petticoats, her brown eyes never leaving his face. Her face was unreadable. House hadn't even noticed that she still had her gloves on.

When she had lifted them up enough in the front, she stood over him. Obediently, she slowly bent her knees, her legs trembling slightly, until she was in the right position, his legs between hers.

"Now," House said. "And don't use your hands."

It took a few tries, but then he found the right spot and pushed upwards and into her. She gasped, but didn't let go of her skirts. House shoved her down into his lap, all of him going into her. She was a little dry and tight, so he started slowly, feeling her getting wet.

"Don't touch me," House ordered when he saw her start to drop the material. "Stay the way you are."

"Yes," she agreed, closing her eyes.

House's hands wrapped around her hips, and he proceeded to pump himself into her as hard and fast as he could, a smile of triumph on his face as he watched her shiver with ecstasy. He had to hold her up, as she was now clutching at the fabric of her dress, obviously trying not to let go, just as obviously wanting to let go.

"I said, don't touch me," House whispered, softly, kissing her cheek. Then he resumed fucking her, using his upper body strength to lift her up and down on his penis as if she were a sex toy. She kept her body taut, feet on the ground, but otherwise let him do what he wanted. Her legs started to match his rhythm so that their bodies were pushing and pulling together. Whimpers and soft little noises escaped her. She opened her brown eyes and stared into his.

Somehow that sent his senses into overdrive. He kissed her again. She put her tongue in his mouth, her lips smashing into his, her eyes still open, staring. Without pulling her head away, still with her mouth on his, he felt her come again and again, her body jerking and twitching. House could feel it, and again he had another one of those mind-blowing orgasms where he closed his eyes and saw colors, patterns, flashing against his eyelids like strobe lights.

They sat in silence like that for several minutes, House cradling her in his arms.

"I haven't had so much sex since I was in med school," House marveled.

Johanna-Wilson lifted her head sleepily.

"Oh, why can't you be Gregory?" she said sadly. "Everything would be perfect if you were Gregory."

House felt a wave of sadness wash over him. _I am Gregory_, he thought. But he remained silent.


	23. Chapter 23

"Does anyone know you're in my room?" House asked Johanna-Wilson as she eased herself off of him. She smoothed her skirts, adjusted her bonnet, and plopped down in his armchair, exhausted.

"Nobody knows. Louis and Gr—Mr. Potato Head are having a discussion in the library. I tip-toed up here as fast as I could. I'm supposed to be resting. Only Camille knows I'm here."

"Your lady-in-waiting?"

"She is my principal lady-in-waiting. I have three altogether."

House sighed. "Then that means they all know you're here. Where is your grandmother?"

"I suppose she's in her quarters. She likes a nap before dinner." Johanna-Wilson caught sight of his bare leg again, and the scar. "My word, that is a horrible scar!" she blurted. "Did some enormous animal bite your thigh off?"

House considered lying, but he was too tired. "No. The muscle died and it had to be removed. That's how I became a cripple."

Johanna continued to stare at the scar. "How awful."

"Yeah, it wrecked my life, okay? Help me back on with my clothes. At some point I have to learn how to do it myself."

"Yes, John." She stood and gathered up his crumpled breeches, pulling them right side-in, and then gently kneeling before him and pulling them up. Suddenly her head bobbed forward and she lightly kissed the scar.

"Hey!" House slapped both hands over it. "What the hell was that?"

"It seemed like it needed…I don't know…some affection." She didn't look at him as she continued pulling up his breeches. House grabbed them and pulled the breeches the rest of the way up, and then watched her fasten them. Damned if he was going to ask her for any help again. Her kissing his scar had made him furious, even if he was not sure why. It was his scar, and it was one of the only reminders of who he really was.

"I can do my boots myself," he said, after she had fetched them.

"Why did you ask after my grandmother?"

"Your uncle said that I am to have nothing whatsoever to do with you. Unless there is a chaperone." He smiled grimly. "We need to talk, and I don't want to get executed for it. Have you and your grandmother meet me in the garden. Where we were yesterday."

Johanna-Wilson frowned. "But suppose my uncle asks for me?"

"Camille can tell him you went for a walk. He finds us, he finds old Bertha, and I'm playing by his rules. At least he thinks so."

"Very well, John."

Again, her face was unreadable as she stole out. House wondered what on earth he was going to say.


	24. Chapter 24

Dusk was falling as House limped down the path to where Joanna-Wilson and the Queen Mother waited. A Blind Faith song ran through his head:

_You are the reason I've been waiting all these years  
somebody holds the key  
Well, I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time  
And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home_

He was furious. The Princess had seen his scar, and then practically ran out of the room. Okay, let Duke Asshole keep her. After all, he could walk on both legs.

Johanna-Wilson was sitting on the bench where they had been before, her posture stiff, her gaze fastened forward. Gunther was standing at a discreet distance from both women, obviously bored.

The Queen Mother greeted House with a broad smile and a wave, but House ignored her.

"I assume this means you're going to stop jumping me twice a day," he snapped at Johanna. He sat down a short distance from the Princess. "You've decided a middle-aged cripple isn't the proper boy-toy. That's okay, my penis could use a vacation."

"John!" the Queen Mother said, shocked. Johanna-Wilson did not react.

"Women I pay to have sex with me have the good manners not to look at my scar as if they were going to vomit. If I knew what the currency here was, I'd pay you the going rate. Sorry for the unpleasant surprise."

He leaned on his cane and stood.

"Are you always this cruel to people?" Johanna-Wilson said, still not looking at him.

"Only those I've slept with."

"I'm not surprised you have to pay for it, then." She looked at him. Her eyes were misting. "You're afraid of what's happening and so you want to drive me away. You're ashamed of your leg and so you assume everyone else is, too. I wonder if you are even capable of normal human feeling."

"_God_, you sound like someone I know."

"Why are you speaking to my niece in that manner, Captain de la Fontaine?" There was pure cold steel in the Queen Mother's voice. "How **dare **you speak to the future Queen of Princeton with such abominable rudeness? You are a guest in this house, and further, you forget your position. I will not have it, sir, no, I will not have it."

House was jolted by her tone. Suddenly the lumpy old woman was every inch the former Queen, her small eyes filled with fury, her bearing ramrod straight. He even thought she might get out of her wheelchair and punch him in the face. He sat back down and lowered his head, away from her stare.

"What is the _matter_ with you?" Bertha demanded.

House sighed deeply. In for a penny, in for a pound…

"I don't know why I'm here," he began. "I don't know who I am supposed to be. My name is not Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. It's not John Doe. My name is Dr. Gregory House, head of the department of diagnostic medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in Princeton, New Jersey, the United States of America. I don't even know if this world is real, or if I'm having a hallucination, or if I'm dreaming."

There was a long silence.

Johanna was the first to break it. "Gregory…?"

"Everybody calls me House. Except my mom. My dad's dead. He was in the military, so maybe that's why I'm a soldier in this hallucination."

"What's a hallucination?" asked Bertha, staring at him.

"It's…it's…like a dream, but you're still awake. You see things that aren't there. It's happened to me before." House looked back and forth at the two women. Both old and young gawped at him as if he had two heads. For that matter, maybe he did. All bets were off.

"Then that's what you're having, John, a hallucination," the Queen Mother said decisively. "Whoever heard of a place called New Jersey? It's complete nonsense."

"But has anyone heard of me before now?" _Please,_ he begged the deity he didn't believe in, _don't let me be a legendary soldier and fighting man or I'll stroke out._

"We'd heard of your valor in battle, but no, we don't usually know the names of soldiers. Why would we?" The Queen Mother shook her head slowly. "You poor man, you sound like my son."

"The King?" House asked.

"No, his older brother. It is the shame of our family. He is in a private mad house. My darling son, he went out of his head, and his younger brother, Johanna's father, was crowned King." Bertha looked at House. "I should talk to Louis."

"No, don't do that!" House grabbed her forearm. She looked down at his hand but did not draw away. "I am Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. I have these spells…"he smiled as convincingly as possible. "You shouldn't listen to me when I say anything about New Jersey or hospitals." It made his stomach turn, but he pressed on. "I know this is what's real, you and the Princess are what's real, the rest of it is simply…" he fumbled for the word. "A fancy." Jesus Christ eating cheese, it was killing him to say this crap, but this world was real enough to have him thrown in a mad house. And he very much doubted the conditions would be anything like Mayfield.

"Grandmother, may I have a moment with John?" Johanna-Wilson asked.

"Yes, my darling. John, you'd better be nice to her or—" the Queen Mother raised one eyebrow "If you take my meaning."

"That I do, your Majesty."

Gunther was summoned. He wheeled Bertha a short distance away, but still close enough that if Prince Louis showed up, she was a credible chaperone.

Johanna cleared her throat. "Is your name really Gregory House?"

"Yes," he said, almost inaudibly.

"I believe you."

House stared at her. "You do?"

"Since the first night we met. Yes, I'd had far too much champagne, but I knew you weren't like any man I'd met before. And I've kept having this feeling that you're different." She forced a small laugh. "I didn't know it would be _this_ different."

House put an arm around her broad shoulders. "Neither did I."

They remained sitting, watching the lengthening shadows.


	25. Chapter 25

Johanna-Wilson and Bertha had to go back to change for dinner. According to Gerhardt, House didn't have to since he was already in full uniform. It took more than an hour for the women to get ready. The Queen Mother did not look substantially different, only that her gown sparkled more in the candlelight. Johanna-Wilson had changed into a gray dress of dull silk.

The formal dining hall made the daytime dining room look like a studio apartment. House estimated the ceiling at thirty feet.

For the most part, dinner was a silent affair. House had decided that the safest course was to say nothing at all. The table was piled with food, most of it at room temperature. In the center was a tower made out of what looked to be pastries. First came the soup and fish course. There were four servants per dinner guest, each one ready to whisk the soiled plates off the table and to pour more wine.

As before, Prince Louis ate gluttonously. Ordinarily House would have said something nasty about his table manners, but he bit his tongue. The seating arrangement had been changed. Tonight Johanna-Wilson sat next to Duke Asshole, and House was seated next to the Queen Mother. The only talk was between Louis and Duke Asshole, revolving around land, crops, taxes, and tariffs.

The second course was stewed beef, with an enormous variety of accompaniments: fruit, boiled vegetables, potato pudding and more. House was full from the first course, but he took a morsel of meat to show good fellowship. This could not end soon enough as far as he was concerned.

The Queen Mother ate daintily, but her portions were large. House could understand that; she probably hadn't tasted real food until his arrival. He had no doubt that soon she would complain of stomach pain and ask him what to do. "Stop making a pig of yourself," would probably not go over well.

As soon as it was all over, House excused himself, pleading fatigue. It was obvious that Louis and Duke Asshole were just happy for him not to join them for port and cigars. He dragged himself up the stairs, leg pain stabbing with every step. He wondered if there was a dumbwaiter he could ride in; anything except all of these cursed stairs. Perhaps Gerhardt could carry him up and down.

The only books he'd been able to find were hymnals and a religious tract. It figured. He didn't know what day of the week it was, but he was certain they all went to church on Sunday. Fucking hypocrites, especially that bloated jerk off Prince Louis.

House was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Gratefully he let Gerhardt help him undress and get into a nightshirt. All he wanted was sleep. Who knew, maybe he would wake up in New Jersey the next morning. He crawled into bed, making sure all of the candles were extinguished, and fell instantly into a deep sleep.

"Captain? Captain?"

"Lemme sleep, fuckface," House muttered eyes closed. A hand was shaking his shoulder gently.

"I am sorry, Captain, to awaken you."

"Huh?" House looked up to see a woman who bore more than a passing resemblance to Gerhardt, except that Gerhardt didn't have dull brown hair curled into ringlets on either side. This must be Camille, the Princess's first lady in waiting. "What does she want _now_? I'm too tired to play find the venison."

Camille shushed him. "No one can know I'm here, Captain. Her Highness desires to see you in her chambers. I'll take you there, but we must not waken any one else in the palace."

"Crap on a cracker." House pushed the covers off and lifted his bad leg off the bed. "Get me my cane." Once he had his cane, he limped over to the armoire. Yep, there was the silk dressing gown, and a pair of slippers. _I must look like a gay Hugh Hefner_, he thought.

House followed Camille as quietly as he could, considering that his cane was tapping on the floor. They didn't know from rubber tips in this place.

"This way," Camille beckoned toward a set of tall white double doors. She unlatched one and led him in.

It was a drawing room, and in the darkness House could only see the outlines of furniture. He used his cane to help navigate his surroundings, much as a blind man would. Camille opened another door, and House entered the Princess's bedchamber.

"Johanna, I'm too tired—"

But the Princess was not in her nightshift. She was still fully dressed, sitting in a bright blue and gold armchair. She beckoned House to sit in another one opposite her.

"If you're hoping for a midnight frolic, you'll have to get a stable boy," House said. As always, when he saw her, there was a physical impact inside of him, a desire to grab and kiss her, despite his weariness. _Fuck that shit_, he thought, and dropped into the armchair.

His glance took in the high-ceilinged room, all done in blue and gold, the enormous canopied bed, with its many pillows. There was another fireplace, this one also in pink marble, with a fire in it, illuminating the room and casting tall shadows.

"That's not why I asked you—"

"Commanded me—"

"Asked you—"

"Commanded me—"

"My word, you can be so infuriating! I requested your presence—" she paused, but when he didn't butt in, she continued. "Because I wanted to talk to you. Away from prying eyes and ears."

"What about Camille? Oh, hell, I don't give a crap about what Camille or Gerhardt or Gunther or any of them think. They're not the ones who can have me executed."

She stiffened. "I would never do that to you, John…er, Gregory…er, Marmaduke…" Flustered, Johanna-Wilson rose and tugged the bell pull. Camille was there so fast House was sure she had been listening at the keyhole.

"Camille, summon Hedy. I wish to undress." She looked at House. "Don't fret, it is only because this dress is extremely tight. I'll only be a few minutes."

She left through another door, and House was alone. And mad. What kind of inconsiderate bitch ordered a man to her bedroom in the middle of the night to service her? A power-crazed Princess, that's who. House was not going to be used for stud duty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a vase.

It was two cherubs, back to back, both with sickeningly insipid smiles and brightly painted pink cheeks.

With a feeling of great satisfaction, House walked over to the vase, opened his robe, and pissed in it. He debated knocking it over. No, letting it marinate and stink up the room was a more satisfying idea.

He sat back down. God, he was so tired…it was hard to sit up. And that huge blue bed looked so inviting. All of those cushions…

Not caring what the consequences would be, House left his cane by the armchair, limped to the bed, and flopped face down on it. Within minutes he was asleep.


	26. Chapter 26

_**NOT SAFE FOR WORK!**_

_House has a dream about Princeton-Plainsboro_

House had a dream. He was back at PPTH, in his familiar surroundings. But he was behind glass. No matter how much he shouted, everyone ignored him. And they were all dressed like courtiers and damsels. Except it was the wrong way round. Cuddy was wearing a silk coat and breeches, as was Thirteen. Taub, Foreman and Chase were all wearing ball gowns. And to put it mildly, Chase was the only one who looked good. Foreman was fanning himself with a blue lace fan and making eyes at Cuddy, who was talking to Taub. Taub looked ludicrous in a brown low-cut gown, his chest hair poking out. Where was Wilson?

Wilson entered, and he was the only one dressed normally, in a lab coat and one of his ugly ties. He bowed to Chase, and they started to waltz. By now House was screaming and beating on the glass, but not a single one of them acknowledged his presence. The glass would not break.

House woke up with start, his breathing coming in short, panting gasps. Then he realized that he was spooning Johanna-Wilson, his body against hers, his right arm around her, the other under his head. They both lay atop the blue bed covers, she in her linen nightshift, House still in his silk robe. He didn't want to move. His heart pounded, he didn't know where he was. He pulled Johanna-Wilson closer to him, but she did not stir, only made a little happy noise in her sleep. House didn't want her to wake up. There must be some way he could steal out of the bedroom and get back to his, lest she see him vulnerable and confused. But he felt too needy to let go of her. Cautiously he lifted his head.

He took in the blue and gold bedroom, the pre-dawn light coming through the windows. His cane was still against the armchair. Between the dream and his present circumstances, it was simply too much for him. He buried his head in Johanna-Wilson's nightcap, willing himself to get back into emotional control. Damned if he was going to start crying and let her see it.

"John…?" She sounded half-asleep. House froze. She clumsily reached the arm thrown over her, lifted his hand to her lips, and kissed it gently. Then she nuzzled her head against it.

This proved too much for him. It had been years since anyone had touched him with such gentle affection. A huge lump formed in his throat. _Don't cry, you stupid bastard, you will not cry, you don't cry. Nothing makes you cry._ Despite his inner tirade, tears slid down his cheeks. _Damn damn damn, Dad always said MEN DON'T CRY!_ His tears were making her neck wet, and that woke her up.

"John?" This time her voice was firmer, if still groggy-sounding.

"Don't move, please." He meant it as a demand, but his voice broke. _MEN DON'T CRY, GREG! What sort of pussy __are__ you? _He despised himself even more than usual.

"Are you all right?" her voice was concerned. She nuzzled his hand harder. "I won't move, I promise."

"No. I don't want to talk about it."

"You're crying. I can feel it."

"No, it's snot. I have post-nasal drip. Sorry for getting snot on your neck."

"What is snot?"

"Jesus, I have to explain everything to you, Johanna." This was good, he was getting control himself. "I'll bet you've never even heard of a bicycle."

"I know what a bicycle is," she said, her voice still gentle. "I'm going to turn over now."

"Don't—"

Too late. She turned over, moving back as she did, breaking the warm contact between them. House suddenly felt bereft. Her thick brown eyebrows drew into a frown as she looked at him.

"Why are you so sad? Do you want to go home?"

He couldn't meet her gaze. "Yes. I want to be a doctor again. I want the hospital back. I want to be in a place that has LP records and computers and all kinds of things I can't explain to you."

"But it's the people you miss the most. Is one of them a woman?"

"Yes." He rolled his head back and closed his eyes. "We almost—but she's with someone else now. There's nothing I can do about it."

"But that's not who you miss the most."

"Do you have to be so fucking perceptive? My best friend. My only friend. He was the one who kept me anchored to the human race. The rest of them can all go to hell as far as I'm concerned." House drew in a deep breath, then let it out. "I had a dream about them all last night."

Her next question was tentative. Out of the corner of his eye House saw her turn her head away. "Was it a good dream?"

"No. They were all there, but I couldn't get in." What was wrong with him? Why was he telling Johanna-Wilson about his dream?

"You poor man." She took his hand and held it against her cheek. "Your best friend isn't a cobbler, is he?"

"No."

"His name is…Wilson?"

Hearing her speak his name made House's stomach drop. He waited a long time before he answered. What would happen if he told the truth?

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

Again, House had to wait a long time before he answered. "Guys don't talk that way about other guys, Johanna." He sighed. "We live together. He's always been there for me. That enough, or should I start describing how well he makes fettucine alfredo?"

"That first night—" her voice was getting tighter, as if she too were on the verge of tears. "When you were on eth, you told me I looked like him. That he was pretty." She took House's face in her hands, her touch so gentle it was as if his cheeks were being rubbed with flower petals. "You love him. Don't avoid the truth with a joke." She started to cry. "That's w-why you've wanted to call me Wilson. Why th-that first morning together, you said his name. Oh, God in heaven." She rolled away from House, hiding her face, sobbing so hard her body shook. "I thought—I thought it was _me_."

House rolled over on his back, staring at the bed canopy, feeling like dogshit. "It is," he said hoarsely. "But—it's also—how can I explain? You'd never believe me anyway. I don't do love, Johanna. Love is for morons." Awkwardly, he ran his hand down her back, feeling her spine beneath the linen nightshift. Then again, he decided to tell the truth. In for a penny…

"I was crying because when I woke up, I was holding you. The way you touched me. It's been years since anyone touched me like that." Unbidden, tears slid down the side of his face. But he kept his voice steady. "You don't know what my life has been like, Johanna. To be almost entirely alone. I can't stand thinking about it. I don't know what I feel about _you_."

"Seriously?" She gave a sarcastic laugh.

"Johanna, it's not all about the sex. I mean, a lot of it is about the sex, but there's something besides the sex. And yes, you look a **lot **like Wilson. At first I thought you were Wilson in a dress. I've never had sex with Wilson. I'd be lying if I didn't say I haven't thought about it. You said that on the battlefield alliances are made. My life is a battlefield, and Wilson is my alliance." He paused. "However, you are amazing in bed."

"You can lie with one of my ladies in waiting, if that's all you want. I'm sure any of them would be glad of the chance."

"Not the one who looks like Gerhardt. Even a dirtbag like me has standards." He reached for her shoulder. She shrugged off his touch. "Johanna, look at me. Please."

Reluctantly, the Princess did as she was told. Her eyes were red and puffy, and they were so full of hurt House had to look away. "I'm going to be honest with you. I don't do love. I know that when I see you with Mr. Potato-Head, it makes me jealous. Every time I see you, I want to ravish you. I—" he choked out the last words—"I feel like you're mine. Christ, I sound like a guy in a bad romance novel. 'Milady, my ardor for thee knows no bounds.'" There was another long silence. When she spoke, her voice was solemn.

"Oh, your Lordship, I am but a common landowner's daughter, with naught for a dowry except one cow that gives sour milk."

"What care I for your cow? Save for a few nights of clandestine passion?"

"But your Lordship, what about your goat? Can you simply throw her aside? Have you no sense of honor?"

"You would bring up Beatrice at a time like this." They smiled at each other. "I have to pee," he whispered in her ear.

"There are no cherub statues below."

"Well, there's that vase." House pointed. "I peed in it last night. I was going to let it sit there and let the smell waft through your bedchamber."

"Oh, my!" Johanna's smile grew broader. "I despise that vase! Do please fill it to the brim. Then we can drop it out of the window."

When House rolled off the bed, his bad leg was starting to ache again. Nevertheless, he did as he was instructed, feeling sweet relief in more ways than one.

Outside, dawn was slowly turning the sky pink. House turned back to the bed. Johanna-Wilson was dwarfed by its sheer size.

"Please, come back." She patted the bed.

"Sure. I'm still exhausted. Your Highness can certainly wear a man out."

"We'll drop the vase out the window later, John." She stretched and yawned, watching him closely.

House carefully climbed onto the bed so he was once again resting on his left side. Then he pulled Johanna-Wilson to his side, gently rolled her on her side, and curled around her.

"I'm growing my hair," was the last thing he heard her say before he again fell asleep.

########################################

Judging by the sun, House estimated they had been asleep for about an hour. He was still curled tightly around Johanna-Wilson. He was drowsy. And he was hard.

Gently, not moving any other part of his body, he rubbed himself slowly between her butt cheeks. She made another one of those little happy noises, still asleep. It made him hornier, looking the back of her head. Still being careful not to budge, he rubbed himself harder but no faster between her cheeks. God, that felt really good. The linen was creasing into the crack as he moved back and forth. She made a small grunt and woke up.

"John," she said softly, and slid backward on her side so that they were even closer together. Then she moved her hips back so that there was more pressure against him. Now that he could move, House tugged up her nightshift until her pale buttocks were bare. He spread them slightly with his hands so he could slide in deeper, and held them on either side. He had done this with large breasted women, but never on the lower end. It was amazing how great it felt. He rocked harder, still slowly, and she curled her body more tightly so that he had greater access to her ass. A small moan of pleasure escaped her, and she again pushed her hips back against him, moving slightly to his rhythm.

House took his hands off her buttock and spat on both of his hands, then reached down and slowly rubbed the moisture on himself. When that proved insufficient, he did it again. Now his organ slid more easily, although he would not let himself speed up. It was almost like a pleasant dozy dream, mixed with jolts of sensation. In fact, he went slower, his hands again holding her butt cheeks, both of them lying on their sides. Each movement shot electricity through him and somehow the fact she was turned away from him made it even better. He wanted to go faster, but he fought the urge and kept moving slowly back and forth, savoring each thrust. His balls were gently touching her backside with each thrust, giving him another tingling burst. Other than some soft noises, she said nothing, moving her hips along with him. Her broad back was against his chest, her weight partly resting on him, her arms curled on the bed. There was no effort to touch him. In fact, except for the fact that she was quietly moving with his rhythm, if House hadn't known better, he would have thought she was asleep.

The feelings were building up inside of him, his muscles clenching, but he stayed silent, save for his panting breath. He couldn't stand it anymore, he would lose his mind if he didn't come. And then he came with a loud cry, his semen spurting across her back and the top of her butt cheeks. He shuddered, semi-tumescent, and drew away from her. Then he balled up the bottom of his nightshirt and wiped her clean, although it made his shirt sticky.

Johanna was still lying silently. House leaned over and whispered into her ear: "What say we drop that cherub out the window now?"


	27. Chapter 27

They were in luck. The cherub vase hit an empty planter below and smashed, spraying urine around the surrounding garden.

"I wish we could do that again!" Johanna-Wilson cried.

"Anytime I see a cherub, I'll make sure to piss in, on, or around it." House looked at the morning sunshine. "I'd better beat it back to my bedroom. God, my leg…you still have my eth cakes, don't you?"

She frowned. "Yes. I'll get you two of them." She left the bedroom, shutting the door. House's leg was spasming. It wasn't meant for stairs and walking down huge corridors and garden paths. He'd estimated once that he could walk twenty feet before his leg gave him trouble or buckled under him. How many miles had he walked in the past few days? He sat in the armchair where his cane was, rubbing his thigh.

Johanna returned, two eth cakes on a small silver plate. House tipped the plate to his mouth and swallowed them. "My leg…you have no idea how much it hurts," he said with a gasp. "I'm guessing eth contains an opioid analgesic of some kind. If I had any sort of access to the hospital lab I'd be able to analyze what its chemical composition is."

"I'm sorry that you don't."

House groaned, trying to stand up. Johanna indicated that he should sit back down.

"I'm in pain, but I don't want to be dead," he muttered. "If I'm caught here—"

"Don't worry. I gave Camille strict instructions to have your breakfast brought here." She smiled. "I thought you might be tired. What was the phrase you used? 'Fuck you to death'? We shan't have that, John."

"What about Gerhardt?"

"What about Gerhardt? He already knows about us, and he also knows it is in his best interest to remain quiet on the subject." She raised one brown eyebrow.

"Johanna, I want you to do something for me," House said slowly. She visibly stiffened.

"I _won't_ be called Wilson."

"No, but I want you to call me House. You can call me anything when we're in public…John, Captain, Assface. I'd ask you to call me Gregory but that pompous jerk you're going to marry…feel free to yell out my name when you're having sex with him."

"My God, you really are cruel. Why?" Johanna stared at him. It was bizarre, Wilson's face staring at him with an expression that was completely un-Wilson.

"I'm not being cruel, I'm being honest. I shouldn't be here; I certainly don't want interrupt your royal coupling with _Gregory_."

Before she could respond, there was a gentle knock on the door. House grabbed for his robe, and Johanna-Wilson scrambled back into the bed. "Who is it?"

"It's Camille, your Highness. And Harriet. With your breakfasts."

"Set them up in the drawing room, please," Johanna called. "I'll ring for you when I need you."

House heard the sound of giggling from the next room, the movement of furniture, and crockery_. If_ _Gerhardt and Camille had sex, would that be incest?_

After a few moments, there was silence. Johanna jumped out of the bed, indicating to House that he should stay where he was, and went to the door. "They're gone," she whispered. "Stay there until your leg doesn't hurt so much."

"Thanks for the tip," House said.

Johanna walked to where he sat and stood over him. Then, with a jerk, she pulled up his nightshirt to reveal his maimed leg.

"You bitch—"

"Be quiet…House. Don't try to cover your wound. I won't have it." She knelt down and examined it. "It's no wonder that you are always in pain. Half of your thigh is missing."

"No shit, Sherlock." House hated feeling this exposed. If he could help it, not even prostitutes saw his leg. She gently ran her hand over it. He flinched.

"Does that hurt?"

"No. Have you finished looking at the cripple yet?"

"No." Her eyes were soft. "Why is your leg everything you are? What about the rest of your body? I've seen far worse than this."

"So have I, but this is the fun stuff I have to live with. The eth makes it bearable." He pulled down his nightshirt. "The freak show is over."

She nodded. "As you wish. Our breakfast is getting cold…House."

Again there was that awkwardness which neither of them seemed able to bridge. A table was set in the Princess's drawing room, with fine china and silver utensils. In the center was a small bouquet of pink roses.

House lifted the napkin from his plate: two eggs and bacon, cooked until almost burnt. How did she know? The menial hotline, no doubt. Johanna was eating a plate of offal of some kind.

"What's that stuff?" he pointed with his fork.

"Pig lungs. They're quite tasty if you boil them enough. Would you like to try a bite?"

"God, no."

Johanna poured House a cup of coffee, and handed it across the table to him. "You're not the only one who feels alone," she said.'

"Right, those ladies in waiting and relatives and all of the courtiers kissing your ass…you're an absolute hermit."

"Oh, yes, I forgot, you are the undisputed ruler of personal misery. No one but you can be unhappy. Certainly not a woman who was raised by tutors, not allowed to have friends because they were all beneath her, not allowed to leave the palace grounds without an escort, never saw her parents except at official functions when she was trotted out like a prize heifer."

"Spare me—"

"Having subjects instead of friends is no way to live! I have no alliances. Yes, I am surrounded by people, but not a single one of them knows what goes on inside my head. I am sorry for infringing on your unhappiness." She drained her coffee cup and poured herself some more.

House felt uncomfortable and angry. "You have Gregory."

"It wasn't my choice to marry Gregory. He is the only man suitable for me in rank. And he's rich, which will add to the coffers of the kingdom. In fact, we're announcing our engagement on Sunday."

House stopped eating. "What day is today?"

"Wednesday. There's to be an awfully big garden party." She looked down. "I was told I would marry Gregory last year, but I was too young for it to be formally announced. Since then I've tried to like him. But he does look like a potato! Do you think I want to marry a potato?"

"He's Duke Potato," said House gruffly. "Rich Duke Potato. You'll live on a nice big potato farm and have lots of little fingerlings."

Johanna put down her fork. "That's not funny, House."

"It isn't meant to be funny." House leaned back in his chair. "Joanna, your uncle wants to remain King or whatever weird-ass titles you people have for uncrowned rulers. He wants you married, in the country, and out of the way."

She stared at him, eyes wide. Then her head dropped and she folded her hands in her lap. "If that is what he wants, that is what I shall do. I've always done what I've been told. Except for you. And you're teaching me that other peoples' judgment is better than my own."

"That's not true." House was completely thrown. He wanted to stop hurting her, but he hated the way she was making him feel. Guilty, ashamed of himself. He wanted to run his fingers through her mussed brown hair, hug her, tell her he didn't mean it. But he sat, still as a stone. Sunshine was pouring through the window, making the crystal and silver table settings sparkle. It was a perfect picture except for the two people in it.

Why didn't she run, or cry, why didn't she just _get the fuck out?_ She sat still, head down, hands in her lap. As if she was posing for a portrait.

House couldn't stand it another minute. He pushed himself up from his chair, holding his sore leg,. 'I'd better go. You're probably right, other people's judgment is better than your own. You're the one stupid enough to take all of this bullshit and pretend it's a box of candy!" Fuck her, he didn't do apologies. But involuntarily he put his hand on her shoulder. She unfolded her hands and put one on his hand, her thumb lightly rubbing it. He didn't want to, but he leaned down and put his face in her hair, enjoying the smell and the texture. Then he kissed the top of her head. _What the hell is the matter with me?_

"Sorry I ruined my dramatic exit," he whispered. On impulse, he moved his mouth across her hair. "Your hair smells good. I guess that means your scalp smells good too, it only makes sense—"

"Oh, do _shut up_, House," Johanna said, tilting her head back for a kiss.


	28. Chapter 28

_**WARNING: NOT SAFE FOR WORK!**_

_This chapter deals with bondage, House's leg, and mild violence._

"No one is expecting us until luncheon," Johanna-Wilson said, leading House back into the bedroom.

"I don't know if I can do this…" House said. "I'm twice your age and I'm guessing half your stamina."

"You've kept up so far, House." She led him back to the bed, and waited until he had settled himself on it. He smiled at her lazily.

"Do you mind if I sleep through this one? Nothing personal."

"As a matter of fact, I think you should have two more eth cakes."

"You do?" House was suspicious. But then the addict in him got the upper hand. The eth cakes diminished his pain and made him feel really good. In fact, more than two got him pretty stoned, and he'd taken two of them less than an hour before. _What the hell, boy-toy needs a mental time out.  
_He swallowed them dry as soon as she handed them to him, and then lay back to await the effects. The drug's sedation rolled over him like a gentle wave. He thought to himself, _she can do whatever she wants…_

###########################################

He was snapped out of his doze by a sharp tug at his wrist. His eyes opened, and he saw that Johanna had used the long golden curtain loops to tie his arms to the bedposts. And she was very good at knots.

"What the fuck-?" He pulled, but they didn't give an inch.

Johanna was sitting on the bed on his left side, grinning devilishly. "I gave the matter some thought, and I decided that something had to be done about your leg."

For the first time, fear shot through House. He really didn't know her, and maybe she was as batshit insane as her uncle in the madhouse. Was she going to cut it off? He yanked at the cords, but it was no use.

"Don't you touch me, or I'll kick you across the room," he said, raising his left leg threateningly. "You crazy twat, I'll yell this palace down!"

"No one will hear you, and if they do, no one will come." Her smile turned reassuring. "This was the only way I could manage you."

"Manage me why?"

"You'll see. Don't be so scared, I promise not to hurt you."

House gave another violent jerk at his bonds. "Bitch!"

She smiled, slowly bent over his naked body, and looked at the scar on his leg. Then, looking directly at him, she licked it.

"HEY!"

"If your leg means more to you than the rest of your body, then I have not truly known you, House. I promised not to hurt you." She licked it again. It didn't hurt, but it felt extremely odd. There were very few nerve endings in the scar and the skin surrounding it. House could feel the pressure but not sensation, the same way his jeans rubbed as he walked. Because of the eth, he felt no pain, but that didn't mean he wanted her messing around with his damaged flesh.

She gave it another lick. "Nothing to be ashamed of, House." She got up and walked around the other side of the bed, House staring at her, his heart pounding. He'd done some sick shit in his time, but this…

She settled down next to his side, took his right thigh in both of her hands, and gently massaged it. "The muscles are so tight," she remarked.

"Yours would be too if some lunatic doped you and tied you up. It's not erotic without consent."

She gave him a sharp glance. "That's what you think." She continued to massage his thigh with her strong, thick fingers, digging in, finding the knots, working them out. It actually felt enjoyable. House would rather die than admit out loud that she was an excellent masseuse. As she massaged his leg, she started kissing the wound and the skin around it, and then the skin where the wound ended and normal skin began. _That_ he could feel.

"It's a beautiful leg," she remarked. "Not withered, it's strong, you have a splendid set of calves." She lightly kissed each one. "You see, if you weren't restrained, you'd be pushing me away because you are ashamed. But it's lovely. It is part of you."

For the second time in 24 hours, a lump formed in House's throat. Goddamn this fucking crazy-ass bitch, how dare she do this to him? He pulled harder, but the damn cords wouldn't give an inch. _His ass_ she'd never done this before!

She lay down so that her head was slightly above his groin, and the rest of her upper body was aligned along his leg. She lightly brushed her hand over his groin. He was frozen.

"Oh, my, this is more of a problem than I anticipated," she said, and blew softly across his crotch. Despite himself, House felt a stirring down there. She blew again, and the puff of air sent a shiver through him. She was still lying against his leg, but not resting her full weight on it.

Then, slowly, without looking at him, she licked her hand (the same tongue that had licked his _scar,_ he thought, revolted) and then reached across his leg and took him into her hand. Her touch was sure, and she tilted her face up to his. "I can't use my mouth in this position, I'm sorry,"

"There…is…something…seriously…wrong…with…you," House gasped, feeling himself hardening.

"No, you think there is something seriously wrong with _you_." She stroked him harder, reaching down with slight difficulty to caress his balls, then again resumed stroking him. At the same time, she buried her face in the space between the top of the bed and his thigh, sucking and licking it. House's entire body jerked, rocked both by shock and pleasure at the same time. A single tear slid down his cheek.

Her head slid down along the bed, continuing to lick and suck, never losing her grip on him. She lifted her head, continuing the almost ritualistic rhythms of her mouth with the rhythm of her hand, moving upward to the side of his thigh. Sensual and sexual feelings mixed with fear and grief caused him to gasp and sweat, and then he lifted his hips, bending his legs, his feet sliding on the satin cover. He wanted to gain purchase, to somehow pull himself into a sitting position. She let go of his cock and slid her arm around his right thigh and hugged it to her, gently kissing his knee.

"I told you, it is a beautiful leg," she said, smiling gently at him.

"You PERVERT!" House yelled. "How can you think that THING is beautiful? You're like those women who write to men in prison! You're twisted, get away from me, get away from my LEG!" His voice broke on the last sentence. "It ruined my life, it ruined me, how can you stand to LOOK at it?"

"I see a large scar, why should it upset me?" Letting go of his leg, she placed her hand on the scar. "I know you're in pain most of the time. I know you're ashamed. I'm trying to show you that it means nothing to me. But it is obvious that what I am doing is all wrong. I'm sorry, House."

She stood, and quickly undid the knot on one bedpost. House watched warily as she made her way to the other side to undo the knot. His wrists hurt and his hands tingled. As soon as she untied his left hand, he hit her hard, across the face. She cried out as he grabbed her and threw her down on the bed.

"Okay, Miss Tough Love, you think you can 'cure' me with a medieval Gestalt session?"

"I wasn't—"

"Poor broken House, I can fix him, I can make him all better! Like I'm some goddamned broken-winged bird you put in a box of cotton? One good hand job and I'm happy? Is that what you thought? Huh?" His face was so close to hers he could feel his own panting breath between their faces.

"No, I—"

"You are so full of shit, no wonder your eyes are brown." House was shaking with rage, and again he felt himself getting hard. "I'll show you how erotic it is without consent!"

He pulled up her nightshift. Without any preliminaries, he forced himself in.

"See? Doesn't feel too good, does it?"

Suddenly a determined look crossed her face. As soon as he pulled back, she arched her hips downward, so that he pulled out of her. Before he could react, she shifted her body so that his cock was between her crotch and her thigh and her naked crotch was directly against his scar.

"_Now_ do it," she said, challenging him.

"You think I won't?" He felt her moving her left leg so that he fell naturally into the crevice. At the same time, she pressed her groin on his scar.

"I _dare_ you," she hissed. "You're too scared."

"Like hell!" He couldn't believe how excited this was getting him. Holding her wrists against the bed, he pumped back and forth, pubic hair on one side, soft skin on the other. She ground herself against his leg, her own legs bent, pushing and bucking against his wound. Due to the eth, the pain was a whisper of itself, still there, but a murmur that he could ignore.

She bit her lips, stared into his eyes, daring him to stop her. Her movements also slipped and slid against his penis, which was throbbing so much he thought he couldn't stand it. She squeezed her leg against him, holding him tighter. They continued staring at each other, as if it was a contest as to who could blink first. He sped up, needing release, God, how could anybody _fuck so much_—he was mashing her wrists into the bed, but he didn't care. Her back arched up against his leg, rubbing against it, filled with urgency.

"_House!_ Oh, House! House!" He felt her wetness against his leg, watched her whip her head to the side in an effort to conceal her face.

"You BITCH!" he yelled, overwhelmed by his own orgasm, spurting on her thigh and the bed. It shook him again and again, he grimaced but refused to let his eyes close, staring down. Until his arms wouldn't hold him up anymore and he fell on top of her.

He felt her give a low chuckle.


	29. Chapter 29

House snuck back to his room, where Gerhardt was waiting.

"Your clothes are laid out, sir," he said. "Is there anything else you—"

"Get out."

"As you wish."

The trade-off between solitude and taking forever to get dressed was worth it. House's stomach churned with anger, and other emotions he had no way to identify. He sat in the armchair and rubbed his leg. It still didn't hurt much, but he felt appalled by what they—he—had just done. How could Johanna fondle his leg, his scar? He winced in self-disgust. Both at what she had done and how he had trusted her. Or begun to, anyway. It proved: never get to know anyone too well. Because then the ugliness and crazy and all of that other messy goo burst out of them like the alien busting out of the guy's chest. House missed Wilson. He knew Wilson's ugliness and crazy. Most of it. Would Wilson have given him a lecture on how wrong House's response was to Johanna's overtures, or agreed that she was two pancakes short of a Grand Slam breakfast?

How was House supposed to get out of here?

His hands were shaking as he did up all of the buttons. No zippers, of course. He had no idea how to tie a cravat, so he left it off. Johanna looked like Wilson, she even talked like Wilson at times, was that why his feelings for her were so chaotic? Or was it Johanna herself? How did he separate the two? If only she hadn't pulled that stunt with his leg. His wrists still hurt where she had tied him up. Well, Prince Louis would get his wish; House wasn't going to have anything to do with her after today. He'd give Gerhardt orders to keep the bedroom door locked, and any other doors, secret or otherwise, that led in here.

He took up his cane and slowly made his way downstairs, holding the banister with his left hand.

"I am not allowed to give you any more eth cakes, Captain," Fendel said cautiously.

"That's not why I'm here," House said, surveying the apothecary shelves. "I want to see what you people dose yourself with." He picked up a jar of particularly nasty stuff floating in jelly. "I'm a physician."

"Then you don't need to know about my nostrums, Captain," Fendel said with a sniff.

"I beg your pardon, you albino dwarf?"

"Physicians diagnose, I treat."

"That's about to change, Fendel. Do you believe in humors?"

"Of course I do."

"Don't. The human body is not divided into four kinds of bile." House looked over at Fendel, who was resting his hands on the counter. "The human body is an amazingly complicated organism, Fendel. Dividing the millions of processes into four arbitrary fluids is for simpletons." He opened a jar and sniffed. "Mucilage from lime bark. Used on burns." House opened a box. "Snakeroot." He opened another box. "Ginseng. That's managed to last through every medical breakthrough." House turned to Fendel. "Nowadays it's so processed it's not even ginseng any more. Unless you go to some old Chinese guy in a back alley." House smiled with pleasure and drew in the smell deeply. "Most homeopathic medicine isn't worth the leaves it's dried on. Some of it though...I'm guessing you don't even have rubbing alcohol." He turned and looked at the apothecary. "Do you sterilize your instruments?"

Fendel looked puzzled. "I don't know what that means, Captain."

"I mean, do you at least boil them in water?"

"Why should I do that?" The little man's puzzled expression deepened.

House let out a deep sigh. "Do you have a chair I could sit on, Fendel? I'd like to give you a simple beginner's medical lesson."

Two hours later, House strolled out of the apothecary, feeling better than he had in days. Not only had he managed to teach Fendel a few medicinal basics that even that little twerp could understand, but Fendel has also explained to him the use of one or two plants House vaguely remembered reading about when he was young. Even if it had not been exactly challenging, for a change he had been able to be a doctor. Now that he was adjusting to his peculiar surroundings, that was what he missed the most of all. Even without the technology, there was the mystery of the human body and the many, many things he had witnessed that could go wrong with it.

And here he was. Even if this society was ludicrously primitive by his standards, it could use his expertise.

An idea formed in House's mind, and he smiled. Happily singing 'Minnie The Moocher,' he returned to the palace.


	30. Chapter 30

"Excuse me, your Highness, I hate interrupting you when you're probably levying another unfair tax on the peasantry."

Prince Louis looked up from the papers he was examining. Another man, tall and slim, presumably his secretary, was seated at the writing desk. The Prince looked up at House. There was no mistaking the dislike on the former's face.

"What do you want, Captain?" Prince Louis snapped. "We are conducting business."

House leaned against the door. "I need your permission, and then you can go back to thinking up new taxes."

Prince Louis exchanged glances with his secretary.

"What?"

"I wish to visit the village. And I wish to have the Princess along as my guide."

"WHAT?"

"We won't be alone, your Highness. The Queen Mother can accompany us as our chaperone. I'm suffering from palace fever, your Highness, and I'd like to see some of the natural scenery." House kept his face set in a mask of schoolboy eagerness. "As a doctor, I'm quite interested in how things are practiced here."

"The Princess does not need to go with you."

"Why not? She knows the foundling home, probably every other important aspect of the village. You said a chaperone, and nobody has an eagle eye like Bertha."

"The Queen Mother can—"

House's face was going to crack but he kept up the sincere act. "Getting in and out of the carriage with her wheelchair? She's not the friskiest puppy in the kennel."

Prince Louis glared at House, and then sighed. "Well, you leave me no choice, Captain. It would be an immense relief not to have to look at you."

"And the very same to you, sir." Still smiling, House bowed and left quickly.

House kept an ear out for when the royal carriage was brought around to the front. He reached into his pocket, making certain that there were several eth cakes in it. He was looking at a fair amount of walking. Jesus Christ getting a facial, he was irritated at getting emotional.

He listened, hearing the Queen Mother, bitching loudly, of course, as she was helped into the carriage. Then he thought he heard Johanna-Wilson. His heart pounded, and his hands trembled. It must be from what had transpired earlier in the day. His stomach clenched. Suddenly his brilliant idea seemed retarded.

He limped out the door, and let the footman help him into the carriage. The Queen Mother smiled at him. "Good afternoon, Captain! This is an unexpected pleasure." She was sitting opposite Johanna-Wilson. House plopped down next to the Princess.

She blushed a satisfying deep, dark red.

"Y-you're coming with us?" She did not look at him. Boy, was she easy to psych out.

"You can show me around the town—or the mud huts, or whatever you've got around here," House said cheerfully. "As long as you don't decide to replay 'Misery' again."

"I don't know what you mean."

"No, of course you don't. My pop culture references might as well be in Portuguese."

"If it is all the same to you, I have no desire to be in your presence. I have letters to write. Grandmother, I'm sure that you can—" Johanna rose to leave the carriage, even if it meant climbing over House to do so. He had the urge to pull her into his lap.

"Johanna, sit down! You know I cannot walk. If the Captain desires your company it is your duty to oblige him." She again gave House a lascivious wink.

"But, Grandmother--." Johanna sank down in her seat. "Why do you wish to go to the village?" she challenged.

"As I told that power-mad uncle of yours, I'm a doctor. I want to see what sort of voodoo the natives practice in these parts."

"Hmph." Johanna turned away and looked out the window. "You merely want to mock them."

"If we have the time," he said.

The Queen Mother thumped on the hard ceiling of the carriage, and it lurched forward.

House looked out of the window to see the palace receding behind them. He was almost giddy with the smell of the summer woods, the bumping of the carriage, and Johanna beside him. She was still staring fixedly out of the window, leaning her body away from his as much as possible. Still, every bump made her fall against him slightly, which House both enjoyed and resented.

He leaned toward Johanna, the loud bumping of the carriage making it possible for him to whisper. "You sadistic Amazon, what did you mean by tying me up?"

"What did you mean by attacking _me_?" she did not turn her head, but kept her voice low.

"Attacking you? Were _you_ the one who got drugged, tied to a bed, and..." he couldn't say it.

"Were _you_ the one who was assaulted and nearly violated?" she snarled back. "I was only trying to help."

"Help what, help give me nightmares about a madwoman getting her rocks off with my leg? Thanks for nothing, your Highness."

They were interrupted by the Queen Mother.

"I've been doing my exercises, Captain," Bertha said with a giggle. "See?"

Slowly, grunting, she lifted her right calf as high as the cramped space would allow.

"That's great," said House. "Soon you'll be out of that wheelchair and then I can only imagine what trouble you'll get yourself into."

"Oh, Captain!" Bertha hid her giggles behind a black handkerchief. After a moment, she put it in her lap and stared at the two of them. "What I should like to know is, what are the two of you going to do about…Mr. Potato-Head?"

"Grandmother!" Johanna stared at the old lady. "I'm going to marry him, of course."

"Nonsense. It would take a blind man—or that idiot uncle of yours—not to see the way you feel about each other. You don't think I can't hear you both creeping around the castle?"

"You…you do?" Johanna's voice tightened.

"What else do I have to do besides eavesdrop? I'm too cumbersome to listen at keyholes, but that doesn't mean I can't hear what happens in the corridors." She smiled. "Don't fret, I am certainly not going to tell my nephew. But really, Captain, you can't let her marry that ruddy-faced pompous fool?"

"I told…"Johanna paused, groping for what she was supposed to call House in public.

"The Captain," House interrupted.

"…that I'm going to marry Gregory. It is what is expected of me, Grandmother, and if it is what uncle Louis wants, well, who am I to say he's wrong?"

Bertha drew herself up and glared at House. "Are you going to listen to this rubbish?"

"It's none of my business what this sadistic half-wit granddaughter of yours does, Bertha. I'm just along for the ride." He leaned back, folding his arms, but his heart had started pounding again. He wanted to tell the old bag to shut up. "She and Duke Potato-Head are perfect for each other from where I'm sitting."

"You can't mean that!"

"Bertha, I'm twice your granddaughter's age at least, as I've said before, I'm a commoner, and I am certainly not the man to settle down in the middle of nowhere and father a bunch of puking snot-producing rugrats."

He felt Johanna start to sniffle, and then cry.

"It's not what I want, either," she said between sobs. "But I have to. You have no human feeling, House."

"House?" Bertha looked at her.

"Pet name," House drawled. "I fell on her like one." The more Johanna cried, the more he forced himself not to feel anything. He hated it when women cried. At least right now, when more than anything he wanted to put his arm around her and pull her close. Again, why had he thought this would be a good idea?

The Queen Mother gave House the look he dreaded. It had 'guillotine' written all over it.

"Captain, you are not to speak to my granddaughter in that tone of voice. You are not to insult her, or her emotions, or her plans."

"Then what am I to insult, your Majesty?"

"Be quiet! Stop being a self-important fop. I command you to kiss each other."

"You have got to be kidding."

"I don't want to!" Johanna exclaimed. "He is inhuman!"

"I don't care what you want. Kiss her, Captain. It is my command." Her face was stony.

"The things I do to stay alive around here," House grumbled. Johanna stared at him as if he were about to strike her again, fear mixed with fight. Clumsily, aware the Queen Mother was watching them, House turned her face to his and gave Johanna a peck on the cheek. "There. You happy now?"

"No." Bertha's gaze was unwavering. "Go on."

"But Grandmother—"

House dreaded what was going to happen. He kissed Johanna full on the lips, and then again, and then again. Crap on a cracker, all of his jumbled feelings rushed to the surface like dolphins jumping out of the ocean. He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her as though they were alone. She reciprocated, her mouth full on his, her gloved hands gripping his arm. They pulled apart, each breathing hard, eyes locked on each other.

House had to wait a moment before he could get control of his voice. "Is—is your Majesty quite satisfied?"

A broad smile was on her doughy face. "Much better. Johanna?"

Johanna was clearly nonplussed. "I—uh—I too am quite satisfied." The look she gave House was unmistakable.

"No you aren't," he whispered in her ear.


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N: Thank you! Please review._

_Summary: House misses Wilson more than he thought possible._

The carriage bounced over a stone bridge. The sun shone down on a scene of rural beauty. A lake, green trees, flowers…it would make a great postcard, House thought. But where could he have mailed it?

"Your Majesty, could you stop the carriage?" he asked. "I, uh, have to see a man about a horse."

The Queen Mother made a small face, but she thumped the carriage top twice, and it drew to a halt.

"Excuse me for a moment, ladies."

One of the footmen hopped down to help him out. House limped away from the carriage as quickly as his legs and cane would carry him. Looking out at the picture-perfect landscape made him think of New Jersey, and a lump had formed in his throat so large he thought he would strangle. No way was he going to let those women see him lose it. He wasn't going to lose it, but…he thought he was intimately acquainted with loneliness before. But this, the excruciating sense of loss that had swept over him, made him want to drop to his knees. House had lost everything and it seemed less and less likely he was going to go back. To Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, to Cuddy, to his team, to his piano—

And to Wilson. God, he missed Wilson. The only person he could talk to, the only person he could be completely himself with. And House knew it worked both ways. He'd never thought losing a friend would make him want to cry. Staring forward at the lake before him, determined not to let his emotions get the best of him, he slammed his cane onto his right foot as hard as he could.

"House?"

"Not now."

"Why did you do that? Your foot! You could have broken it! Are you out of your mind? How much eth have you taken, House?"

"Shut UP, Wilson!"

House whirled around, almost falling. The princess stood there, her eyes wide.

"Wilson…?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "You look so unhappy. You wish Wilson was here. Or you were back wherever it is with Wilson."

"Go ahead, start crying," House barked. "I don't give a damn what you think or how much your feelings are hurt, Johanna. But dammit, yes, Wilson's my best—my only—friend in the world, and—" he choked. With a wave of his hand for her to go, he turned back toward the lake.

"House." He felt a hand on his arm. "I understand. I do."

He turned toward her, unable to speak, and shook his head.

"And even if I don't, it doesn't matter. I'm sorry for your loss." She squeezed his arm and walked to the carriage. "We'll wait for you. Take as much time as you need."

When he returned, the carriage ride to the village was in silence.


	32. Chapter 32

House hadn't known what to expect once they had bumped past farms, pastures, and livestock. "Bumped" being the operative word rather than "ridden." These people had never heard of shocks, that was for sure. His right foot and thigh both throbbed.

The carriage passed over a stone bridge and down an unpaved road into a village of whitewashed two-story cottages. People came running, it seemed, from everywhere, toward the carriage, yelling and waving.

"What are they doing?" asked House. "Are we supposed to throw them breadcrumbs?"

"One gets used to it," said the Queen Mother. She smiled and waved at the carriage window, and Johanna-Wilson did the same. House leaned as far back as he could to avoid being seen. _Great, 18__th__ century paparazzi,_ he thought. The streets were muddy, as was everything else lower than three feet. He grimaced at the smell of raw meat from the open air stalls they passed. The basic smell was fine; it was the undercurrent of rot that was unsettling.

When the carriage jounced into what appeared to be the town square, and toward a large, low brick building with a thatched roof. The carriage pulled up at the entrance.

The two footmen from the back jumped down and opened the door for the passengers to exit, first pulling down a small stair attached under the carriage. Johanna stepped out first, holding the footman's hand with one hand and holding up her skirt with the other. House didn't see the point. The long cotton skirt was going to drag through the mud anyway.

"Bertha?" House asked the Queen Mother.

"No, I shall stay here. I hate being wheeled about amongst the common people."

House shot her a look, but let himself be helped out of the carriage. When his right leg made contact with the ground, the pain shot up from his foot and made him gasp. Nonetheless, he smiled sourly at the crowd.

"Am I supposed to tip my helmet, or are they going to tug their forelocks?"

"Oh, do be quiet, House," Johanna said. "This is our foundling home. The left side wing is for the girls, the right side wing is for the boys. The infants are cared for on the upper floor. Bery?"

"Yes, your Highness?"

"Hand down that basket."

The taller footman untied a basket that was lashed to the top of the carriage and handed it to the other footman. It held a number of folded cotton blankets.

"Your Highness!" cried a woman coming out of the entrance. She was tall, about fortyish, with pale skin. Her light brown hair was tucked into a scarf, but a stray curl made its way out on one side. "It is such an honor—you should have let us know that you were coming."

"Good afternoon, Miss Malkin," said Johanna. "May I introduce my companion, Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine."

"Captain," said Miss Malkin, curtseying. House merely inclined his head. "Good afternoon, your Majesty!" Miss Malkin said, seeing the Queen Mother in the carriage. Bertha said nothing, but smiled and gave an appropriately royal disinterested wave.

"We've brought some blankets I mended," Johanna said, following Miss Malkin inside.

"You mend blankets?" House asked.

"Yes, I soil my fingers with honest labor, astounding as it may seem," Johanna answered.

"Her Highness is the home's largest subscriber," Miss Malkin said, as a young woman took the basket of blankets from the footman. "I have tried to get her on the board, but she always declines."

"Would you care to see the rest of the home, Captain?" Johanna asked him. Her tone was light and formal, as if they barely knew each other.

"As long as it doesn't involve stairs," he answered.

His leg screamed as they visited first the girls' common areas, then the boys'. The children slept on cots with rough woolen blankets. The children—House estimated at least three dozen from the age of eighteen months to fourteen years—looked at him with a certain amount of suspicion and fear. That was fine by House.

On closer examination, he saw evidence of various conditions. Quite a few children had running noses, which they wiped on their clothes. One or two were sneezing. Many of them had rashes or small sores.

"How often do you wash their clothes?" he asked Miss Malkin.

Miss Malkin had to think. "I'm not certain. Usually once a month, unless we get an outbreak of lice, and then we have to burn everything. Because of her Highness and our other subscribers, we are able to replace the lot."

"That's not only idiotic, it's an insane waste of time and money," House said. "First of all, if you even washed their clothes once a week these little weasels would get sick much less. And if you washed their bedding once in a while, say, every week, they wouldn't get skin rashes and impetigo like that kid over there." He pointed with his cane to a teen-age boy who had large sores on the top of his bare feet. "For the lice, the best treatment in a place like this is mixing tea tree oil with any other kind of oil you have, oil, butter, anything that makes the hair greasy. Preferably olive oil. Then wrap the head with a tight, clean cloth, because I'm sure you don't have shower caps here. Or showers, which would be a good thing. Johanna, we should talk about that."

She gave him a sharp look. Miss Malkin raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, excuse me, your _Highness_."

"With all due respect, Captain, we strive to maintain the highest standards of cleanliness possible in this establishment," Miss Malkin said proudly.

"The hell you do," said House. "This place is filthy, and all of these children need a bath. Not that you're going to give them one any time soon. As I was saying, you wrap their heads with a tight, clean cloth, and leave it on for three days. Then wash their hair outside and go through it with a metal comb. That can't be any more tedious than the way you're doing it now.

"And for God's sake, wash all of the bedding, the floors, the tables they eat off of, the utensils—assuming you let them eat with utensils—and their clothes. There wouldn't be so many sick illegitimate children if this home was halfway hygienic."

Miss Malkin's mouth opened. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"You should," House replied. "Now show me the infirmary. I don't care if it is upstairs."

"I've been sitting here for more than an hour," Bertha complained when House and Johanna got back into the carriage. Miss Malkin had not seen them to the entrance. Johanna's cheeks were flaming red, and House was smiling.

"I have never seen Miss Malkin treated with such unutterable insolence," Johanna said.

"She deserved it. Getting in my face about how clean their establishment is. Clean my ass. That home is a petri dish; anything could grow in it."

"You forget yourself, Captain," said the Queen Mother.

"No, I'm remembering myself, Bertha," House retorted. "I'm a doctor. And the more that idiot pays attention to my advice the more children will live to see their teens."

"What's a teen?" asked Johanna.

"Never mind. They'll live longer, okay?"

Bertha frowned. "Your temperament is quite irascible, Captain."

"That's why I'm surrounded by songbirds whenever I set foot outside."


	33. Chapter 33

House looked out of the carriage window at the low rows of houses and shops. He spotted a sign hanging out in front of one. It said "Apothecary."

"Hey!" he yelled, banging on the top of the carriage with his cane. "Stop the carriage!"

It came to an abrupt halt. The Queen Mother looked at him. "Captain, what in the world—"

The footman hopped down and swung the door open.

"I'm just going to pop in there, grab some cigarettes—" House was stopped by Johanna's arm across his chest.

"I shall go in there with you," she said.

"Johanna! What are you thinking? You can't be seen going into a shop! It is undignified."

"She's right," House protested. "Wait here for me in the carriage like a good little Princess."

"Oh, do shut up, House," Johanna said, removing her arm. Once House was out and on the ground, she insisted on getting out and accompanying him. House could see the local peasantry was getting a big kick out of this. It was kind of cool to be stared at with such awe.

Johanna moved to his right side so he could lean on her. "I'm not going to have you purchasing more eth cakes," she mumbled.

"It's none of your damn business. We're not in Fendel's little cramped hole."

"It is my business," she shot back. "And you should be glad of it."

"Boy, Mr. Potato-Head is going to have his hands full after he marries you. Not that he doesn't already, your shoulders are broader than his."

"_Shut up!"_ she hissed. When the proprietor swung open the door, she gave him a wide smile.

"Your Highness! In my humble shop! I am overcome!" he cried. And indeed it looked like he very well might faint on the spot. He bowed.

"Thank you, apothecary," said the Princess. She was gazing around the store with as much wonder as the shopkeeper was gazing at her.

"Haven't you ever been in a store before?" House asked.

"No! It's so—so little! And dusty. How very strange." Johanna's brown eyes swept over the shelves of merchandise. "Look at all of the boxes and bottles, House!"

"What does your Highness desire?"

"We're just looking, thanks," House answered for her. "Do you have any—"

"Do not sell this man any eth cakes," Johanna broke in.

"Belladonna?" House shot her a glare.

"Oh, yes we do, sir."

"Huh. The apothecary is the owner of the apothecary. God, that must get confusing," House remarked after the proprietor went into the back. Outside, people were staring into the shop windows at them.

"Don't they have anything better to do?"

"No," she said. "It is not every day that a member of the Royal Family sets foot in a common storefront. You have to expect them to be surprised." She turned and smiled at the onlookers, and waved. A loud cheer went up.

"_God_, no wonder you have such a huge ego," House muttered.

"What's an ego?" Johanna looked down at herself, craning to see the back.

"That works."

"I do _not _have a huge ego! You've seen it yourself, you know it is smaller than most women's—"

"Your belladonna, Captain?"

House smiled at the apothecary. "Thank you. Do you mind if we browse around your shop? I have an interest in science, and I was telling the princess how fascinating the ego is."

"How dare you talk about my ego!" she yelped. "In public!"

"I don't think we have any ego," the apothecary said. "Maybe in the next town—"

"Never mind." Leaning heavily on Johanna, House browsed the shelves. The apothecary followed at a respectful distance. "Do you have any idea how much my leg hurts after visiting that orphanage from hell—"

"And smashing your cane on your foot—"

"It hurts, okay? I need an eth cake."

"You wouldn't need it if you hadn't done such an insane thing to your own foot. It's your own fault you're in so much pain." Johanna picked out and fingered a small bottle. "How cunning!"

"It's my own fault I have to listen to you lecture me. Yes, arsenic is one of my favorites."

"Oh, dear." Johanna quickly put the bottle back on the shelf.

Johanna turned to the apothecary. "One eth cake, please, for the Captain."

"Immediately, your Highness."

"_Thank you_, your Highness," House said sarcastically. "Noblesse oblige indeed. Remind me why Mr. Potato-Head wants to marry you?" He accepted the eth cake from the apothecary and swallowed it dry.

"_Gregory _finds me charming, House." She stepped away from him, which forced him to put more of his weight on his right leg. He bit his lip. Johanna looked on with mock-concern.

"It does hurt, doesn't it?" she said. "I shall be waiting in the carriage." She smiled at the proprietor. "Fetch him whatever he needs, and send the bill. But no eth cakes. If I discover any in his possession, I shall have your shop closed."

"Yes, your Highness! Certainly, your Highness! Thank you so much, your Highness!"

It was after dark when the carriage drove up in front of the palace. All of the inhabitants were exhausted. Two large footmen carried The Queen Mother, sound asleep, into the palace, presumably to be put to bed.

"Take those packages to my room, please," House instructed the footman who was taking them down from the carriage.

"Yes, Captain."

Johanna yawned and rubbed the back of her neck as she walked through the entrance. "We've missed dinner." She turned to a tall footman of approximately one thousand years old. "Joseph, the Captain and I will be having dinner in the day dining room. Please inform the chef."

"Yes, your Highness." Joseph turned to a smaller footman and repeated the request, whereupon the smaller footman trotted off.

"Why didn't you go yourself? Are you and the chef having a vendetta?" House asked.

Joseph regarded him stonily. "I am the head footman here, Captain. I do not communicate directly with the servants unless his or her Highness specifically orders me to."

House started to say something, but Johanna grabbed him by the arm. "_House_—" she led him down the corridor toward the day dining room.

With unnerving swiftness, footmen appeared, the table was set before either of them had a chance to sit down, candles were lit, and wine was poured. Johanna took her uncle's place at the head of the table. There were twelve footmen in attendance.

House took them all in with a sweeping glance. "Ah, your Highness, at last we are alone."

"Decorum must be maintained, Captain."

"Can't you send, oh, all of them away?"

"No." Johanna took a sip of wine. "Tell me, where you come from, are you married?"

"_No_." House gulped down his wine. It had a rough, slightly leaden taste. "Johanna," he stared at the plate of soup in front of him. "Why are you marrying…Mr. Potato-Head?"

"Oh. That." Johanna reached over and took House's hand. "He's the only man in Princeton that is of high enough rank, and he is wealthy. I'd been engaged twice before, but one was broken off because he lost all of his money gambling, and the other…he did not want to be my consort. King, yes, consort, no. But that is not how it works. He had entirely too much self-regard, and he smelled of mushrooms."

"You wanted to marry the first one, didn't you?" House's thumb stroked her hand. He felt an annoying twinge of jealousy.

"Yes." She gave a sad little smile. "We were promised to each other from birth, and we grew up together. I don't know if I loved him, but we—we shared the same sensibilities." She sighed. "But he gambled away his fortune, and our marriage." Johanna looked at House. "Maybe you know him. He's a soldier now."

"Johanna, I'm not really a soldier, remember?" House thought for a moment. "If I am a soldier, and your country is at war, who are you at war _with_?"

"Us," she answered. "Them."

"Not _that_ again!" he exclaimed. "I need specifics!"

Johanna leaned forward and lowered her voice. "There are rebels who want to dethrone my uncle. But our army has kept them far away from here. I'm not told very much. I know it has something to do with my parents being gone and my other uncle being in the mad house, but that's all I'm allowed to know."

House stared at her. "Your uncle in the crazy house—he was your father's older brother?"

"Yes. He would be king if he had not gone mad."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I was a child when it happened. I only knew that Uncle William had gone out of his head, and that we wouldn't see him any more."

House leaned forward. "Do you remember any of his symptoms?"

Johanna frowned. "No. He was my funny Uncle William. He would pick me up and whirl me around, and he was always laughing."

"Mania…" House mused.

"He hadn't been King for more than a few years when it happened. So my father became King."

"Would he become silent, withdrawn?"

"No. As I said, he was of a cheery disposition." She lowered her voice even more. "I have been told it was a terrible night when the doctor came. Uncle William flew into a rage, and they had to put him in a straight-coat. I never remember him being odd in any way. But then, we didn't live with him."

"Where is this mad house?"

"In our capital city, Rutgers. It's outside the city, actually. I've been told it's an excellent mad house…for a mad house."

"How far is it to Rutgers from here?" House wanted to get a look at the deposed king, not to mention the mad house. He'd read about mad houses, the torture, starvation, purging and emetics…anyone would go crazy under those circumstances.

"It is a four day's drive."

"ROAD TRIP!" House yelled, startling Johanna and all of the servants.

"Shh! You forget yourself, my engagement party is on Sunday."

"That's right, your engagement party."

"Not to mention the award ceremony for the Golden Lion of Valor. You forget, it's next week."

House's mouth opened. "The award ceremony?"

"Yes. You and two other soldiers will be awarded the Golden Lion of Valor." Johanna's eyes filled with tears. "And after that, you'll be sent back to your regiment."

"Seriously? No one told me." A barrage of images ran through House's mind, of primitive barracks, horses, everything he'd seen in old action movies. Even more than here, he would have no clue as to where he was or what he was supposed to do. And he was a pacifist, as much as he disliked humanity.

Shit. He'd been too young to go to Vietnam, too old to go to Afghanistan, only to be shipped off to fight a war in…Princeton? He could hear his father laughing.

"Holy crap," he said to the air. His grip tightened on Johanna's hand.

"I'll never see you again, House."

House sat silent for a moment. "Don't be too sure."

_Hmmm_, House thought, _I'll have to kill two birds with one stone._


	34. Chapter 34

_Summary: House finds a piano at last…and sings the blues._

For the next few days, House resolved to be an exemplary house guest—or palace guest, as the case may be. At meals he would be pleasant, compliment the chef, banter with the Queen Mother, and keep a careful distance from Johanna. Prince Louis had meant what he said about the two of them being alone. When House left his bedroom the next morning, two footmen hovered near him, following him everywhere. Eventually House learned their names were Burton and Motherhips. House immediately insisted on addressing him as "Mom-Ass," which Motherhips refused to acknowledge.

The greatest discovery was a piano in the ballroom. Or, as the occupants called it, a pianoforte. The white keys were black and the black keys were white, but it had an excellent sound. As soon as House found it, a wave of relief washed over him. He had music back.

Testing the instrument out, he played first a few beginner's pieces by Liszt, then a Johann Sebastian Bach composition, then "Georgia On My Mind."

Motherhips and Burton, who were standing at attention a short distance away, exchanged looks with each other. House smiled and started adding baroque touches to the song, keyboard flourishes that Mozart would have been proud of. He remembered sitting in his living room, before Mayfield, in near-darkness, with a bottle of pills and a glass of bourbon on the piano top. The image of the room came back to him with such sudden vividness that his heart ached. All of his books, his dishes, his laptop, his leather sofa…he switched to playing Son House's "Death Letter" and singing it to himself.

_I got a letter this mornin, how do you reckon it read?  
It said, "Hurry, hurry, yeah, __the gal you love is dead"  
I got a letter this mornin, I say how do you reckon it read?  
You know, it said, "Hurry, hurry, the gal you love is dead"_

House's voice rose and he sang louder.

_You know I __ grabbed up my suitcase, and took off down the road  
When I got there she was layin on a coolin' board  
I grabbed up my suitcase, and I took off down the road  
I said, when I got there she was layin on a coolin' board  
Well, I walked up right close, looked down in her face  
Said, the good ol' gal got to lay here 'til the Judgment Day  
Well, I walked up right close, looked down in her face  
Said, the good ol' gal got to lay here 'til the Judgment Day  
You know I didn't feel so bad, 'til the good ol' sun went down  
I didn't have a soul to throw my arms around  
I didn't feel so bad, 'til the good ol' sun went down  
You know, I didn't have nobody to throw my arms around_

His foot was thumping on the ground, his body rocking back and forth with the rhythm.

_Got up this mornin', just about the break of day  
A-huggin' the pillow where she used to lay  
Got up this mornin', just about the break of day  
A-huggin' the pillow where my good gal used to lay  
Got up this mornin', feelin' round for my shoes  
You know, I must-a had them old walkin' blues  
Got up this mornin', feelin' round for my shoes  
Yeah, you know bout that, I must-a had them old walkin' blues  
You know, I cried last night and all the night before  
Gotta change my way a livin', so I don't have to cry no more  
You know, I cried last night and all the night before  
Gotta change my way a livin', you see, so I don't have to cry no more_

House lifted his head and saw Johanna standing on the other side of the piano. The expression on her face was perplexed.

"That is an extremely strange song," she said. "So strange and so sad. But the style…is it music?"

"It's called the blues." House's hands tinkled idly on the keys.

"Why? Are the people who write it colored blue? What an odd civilization that must be."

House suppressed a smile. "They might as well be. Blue is a word for sad, lonely, any crappy state of mind."

She thought for a second. "Does that mean you are…blue?"

"_Wow,_ you're observant!"

Johanna came around the piano, and before House could protest, she gathered his head to her bosom, stroking his hair. She obviously didn't care if the footmen saw her. He started to pull away, but then decided, dammit, he wanted to be comforted. His insides were raw.

"Poor House," she said softly. "You have a jest for everything." She continued to stroke his hair. "Calm yourself. Try to accept whatever has happened. We don't know how you got here, or how you can get back. But we do have a few more days together. I shall miss you more than you know."

He closed his eyes, feeling her fingers gently on his head, inhaling her smell, familiar and strange at the same time. "Thank you." He felt his body relaxing against her, and he let himself. Ordinarily he held back from this sort of intimate contact. Sex was one thing. But affection was dangerous. House had let his guard down too much with Johanna already. But it felt so good to lean against her big, solid body.

"Blue is nice music," she said. "I play the pianoforte. If we had more time, you could teach me blue."

"The blues," he corrected.

A loud cough from Motherhips reminded House that he was not supposed to be in contact with the Princess. They were chaperoned, but unless it was the Queen Mother, they couldn't get away with much.

House sat up straight, disengaging Johanna's hands. She glared at Motherhips.

"I must go," she said. "I will see you at dinner."

"Yeah."

She swept out. House again closed his eyes, and imagined her hands in his hair. He could still smell her on his clothes.

_Got up this mornin', just about the break of day  
A-huggin' the pillow where she used to lay  
Got up this mornin', just about the break of day  
A-huggin' the pillow where my good gal used to lay  
_


	35. Chapter 35

House woke up several times during the night, and felt the side of the bed next to him, but Johanna-Wilson wasn't there. The next morning he checked his stash of eth tablets, and saw to his dismay that he only had one left. Faced with the prospect of getting downstairs, he got dressed in a frock coat and breeches in a foul mood. The night before he nearly herniated himself pretending to laugh to Prince Louis's jokes after dinner after cigars and port.

When Gerhardt brought his breakfast, House demanded, "Did the Princess visit last night? Did I sleep through it?"

Gerhardt gave a small bow. "I followed your instructions, sir. I locked and bolted the bedroom door, and also locked the secret door behind the bed. You were quite safe."

"Safe? You moron, I didn't want to be safe!"

"As you say, sir." As House had noticed before, Gerhardt had lost the capacity for surprise. He bowed. "The locks will be left undone tonight, sir."

Dressed and fed, House made his way slowly down the marble stairs, gripping the wide white banister with his left hand. It bothered him how much he had missed Johanna. There was that feeling that wouldn't go away, that feeling that she belonged to him. And that was just wrong, no matter how one looked at it.

At the bottom of the stairs, he slowly sat down, his leg throbbing. He looked up and saw Burton and Motherhips standing over him.

"Good morning, Mom-Ass," House muttered.

"Good morning, Captain," replied Motherhips.

"What fun activities do we have planned today?"

"Whatever pleases you, Captain."

"It would please me immensely if the two of you would get the hell away from me."

"I am sorry, Captain," said Burton, "but that is against Prince Louis's orders."

"Then get me some more eth cakes. My leg is killing me."

"We cannot do that, Captain," replied Motherhips.

"Prince Louis's orders," all three of them said in unison. House wanted to join the rebellion right there. The first place he'd storm was the apothecary and force Fendel at cane point to cough up as many eth cakes as possible.

"House!"

It was Johanna, in a cream-colored dress, and she looked _pissed._ House's heart gave a loud thump.

"If you will excuse us," she said to the footmen.

"We cannot, your Highness," replied Burton.

"If you do not, I will inform my uncle that I found you both derelict in your duty, snuggling with my chambermaids. Leave us."

The footmen retreated, but it was only as far as the entrance to the ballroom, where they could not overhear the conversation.

House wanted to grab her. "Where were you last night?" he snapped.

"Where were _you_?"

"Locked in my bedroom. Gerhardt thought it would be best," he lied.

"Damn!" she said. House was startled to hear her use that word, but then she'd been exposed to much worse in his company. "I bathed and wore my best nightshift. I didn't sleep a wink. Then I went to your room and tried the door. I thought …"

"It doesn't matter what you thought," House said, painfully getting to his feet. He resisted Johanna's effort to help. At the same time, House spotted the blue velvet drapes of the corner where Johanna had given him the best blow job of his life. A blow job was pushing it, Mom-Ass and Burton would certainly investigate. But…they were looking away, talking to each other.

He grabbed Johanna by the arm and pulled her down the corridor and pushed her behind the curtains before she could utter a peep. Then he grabbed her ass (or what he could feel underneath all of those damn petticoats) and thrust his tongue in her mouth. At the same time he kept an eye out for his keepers.

Johanna signified her happiness with a little sigh against his mouth. He pushed his hips against her dress, again trying to find her through all of the layers of cloth. If they couldn't have sex, at least they could make out. Her arms slid around his waist, filling him with an almost unbearable pleasure. House ran his hands up her back, feeling its contours, clutching at her cotton dress. They kissed as if this was the last time they would ever kiss, and for all House knew, it might be. Their mouths parted and she kissed him lightly all over his face, on his closed eyes, on his eyebrows, on the side of his nose. "Relax and enjoy it" was a saying he thought idiotic, but right now it seemed the only thing to do.

"A-hem!" came Mom-Ass's voice from the other side of the curtain. Looking down, House saw the tip of his shoe.

"Go away," he muttered.

"Duke de Boeuf-Sandwich-Moutarde's carriage is outside, your Highness," Mom-Ass said smoothly. He did not attempt to step past the curtain. House studied the tip of his shoe. Anger sang through his veins like acid.

"Oh, no." Johanna looked stricken. "He is here to discuss my marriage portion with my uncle." She stepped back from House, alarm with mixed with sadness on her face. "I would marry you, House," she whispered hastily. "Would you marry me?"

"No."

Johanna turned and fled from their little sanctuary. House sagged back against the stone wall. _Jesus Christ eating a cheese sandwich_, he wished that he had never met Johanna.


	36. Chapter 36

There was only one thing to be done if he wanted to secure more eth tablets. Johanna still had a bottle of them in her chamber, and he doubted if they would be well-hidden.

With Motherhips and Burton following him, he painfully made his way back up the marble stairs. His head was whirling. Why did marriage have to be such a cornerstone of this culture? In New Jersey there was dating, living together, friends with benefits. House doubted that Johanna would be up for Princess with benefits.

He closed the door in their faces. "I'm not apt to get up to anything fun in here," he said. "As you can see, I'm alone. Unless you'd both like to come in and watch me play the pink oboe."

"No, thank you, sir," said Motherhips, shuddering.

House shut and locked the door. Gerhardt had mentioned a secret door near the bed. That was probably how Johanna had gotten into his room that first night. He'd search her rooms and find those damn tablets. The leg wouldn't hurt nearly so much if there was an escalator in the front hall.

Starting at the side of the bed, House felt along the walls, knocking lightly. Each wall sounded solid, until he came to a mirror. It made an odd sound when he knocked. He leaned forward; yes, definitely the sound of an empty room. He slowly ran his hand around the gold scrollwork until he found what he was looking for; a small latch mechanism.

The mirror swung outward to reveal a narrow, dark hallway. House limped over to the bedside and lit a candle with the flint, then carried the candlestick in his left hand while his right gripped the cane. He made sure to brace the door open with a slipper shoved halfway up. If the door was disturbed, the slipper would fall to the floor.

The walls were paneled dark wood, bereft of any ornamentation. House used his cane, tapping the walls softly as if he were a blind man. After about fifty feet, he guessed, he came to a small, unlocked door. Cautiously he opened it.

Oops. This wasn't Johanna's chamber. There were cherubs everywhere, on the swags holding the bed curtains, the wallpaper, carved into what furniture he could see peeping through the door. However, the furniture was heavy and masculine; House was reminded of those television shows that showed people getting their houses cleaned. The husband invariably had a collection of Beanie Babies. Doubtless this was Prince Louis's bedchamber. House eased the door shut. "Cherub-tastic," he muttered to himself. The inside of the door was covered with dust and House could make out his own handprint where he had used the knob in the flickering candlelight.

But this wasn't the end of the passage. House eased his way along, tap-tapping, until he came to the end, where there was another small door. There was no dust on the doorknob. Pay dirt! Unless the Queen Mother was on the other side, but he seriously doubted that a woman in a wheelchair would be going through a passage she would get stuck in.

House listened at the door, but there was complete silence. Johanna was downstairs with Duke Asshole and Prince Louis discussing the details of their unholy union. He tried the door, but it was locked. Fuck. Futilely he shook the knob, but it was well and truly locked.

He remembered that there was no floor to ceiling mirrors in Johanna's bedroom, so he didn't have to worry about shattering glass. With the silver head of his cane he hit repeatedly at the door, making sure not to knock the handle off. Every few minutes he stopped to hear if anyone was responding, but silence met his ears.

One final blow caused the lock to break and the door to swing open. Yes! It was Johanna's bedchamber! He tried not to look at the bedposts he had been tied to as he pushed the door shut behind him. It wouldn't quite fit because of the broken lock, but with any luck she wouldn't think to look.

House didn't think she had hidden the bottle in the bedchamber, until he remembered the moments before she tied him to the bed. She had produced two eth cakes seemingly out of nowhere. Every addict nerve in his body danced for joy. It was here! He quickly felt under the pillows, then under the hard mattress. Nothing. He shook the blue bed curtains, and looked under the bed. The underside of the bed was cavernous and dark, hidden all around by an antique version of a bed skirt. House thought he caught a glimpse of the little glass bottle, glinting in the dark.

Trying not to grunt with pain, House squirmed his way under the bed.

**SUCCESS!**

He'd count how many were left later…all he could think of was getting the stopper out, shaking two out and gulping them down. House lay on the floor for a moment, savoring his triumph.

It was a moment too long.

He heard the bedroom door, the real one, open, and women's voices.

"I cannot marry that _potato!_" Johanna.

"But your Highness, he will make a fine consort, and he has an income of five to six thousand a year." Some damn lady in waiting.

"You know that you cannot refuse him." Camille's voice.

"No, I cannot. It is outrageous that any of you, or even a common milkmaid, can marry who they please and I have to be the slave of the man who meets my uncle's price."

House felt the bed groan under her weight. He froze. _Go on, change your clothes, you have to go in the other room, do some kind of woman stuff!_

"It's not that terrible," said the first damn lady in waiting.

"I'd be happy to marry him," said another damn lady in waiting. Jesus Christ wearing a top hat, how many ladies in waiting did a princess need?

"Then you do it," Johanna sulked.

He felt her roll over on the bed, at the same moment that he realized he was not all the way under the bed. He was only under down? Up? To his midthighs. Slowly he tried to draw his legs up, wincing as his right leg dragged along the floor.

Fingertips touched his ankle. Oh, shit. What could he do? The only thing he could think of was to slowly let the end of his cane slide out alongside his foot, so she would know it was him.

There was a short silence. House was sweating bullets.

"Ladies, I would have you leave me now," he heard Johanna say, in a voice that betrayed nothing.

A few moments later, the bed skirt was pulled aside and Johanna's head appeared, upside down.

"House! What are you doing under my bed? You renounced me downstairs."

"It was the lure of your eth cakes."

There was a rustling noise, and her head disappeared. He felt her get off the bed.

"House! You broke the lock!"

"Were you locking me out this time?" He still lay under the bed. The eth cakes were working their magic, the pain was easing. No way was she getting this bottle away from him.

"How did you know about this door? And please come out from under my bed."

"Not unless you promise to let me keep the bottle. I can stay here a long, long time. It's quite comfortable if you like dust bunnies."

There was another short silence, followed by pacing.

"Very well, keep the bottle. And go to blazes with it."

After tucking the bottle into an inside pocket of his coat, House began the painful process of inching out from under the bed. Once he did, he grabbed his cane and held it across himself like a shield.

"You wouldn't hurt a cripple, would you?" He stared at her warily.

"Only if the cripple hurt me first." She was obviously hurt and angry. "And he has, quite nicely, thank you."

House rubbed some of the dust off his face. "For God's sake, Johanna, what was that proposal about? I can't say what you want me to say, you want me to be some fantasy lover come to sweep you off your feet. Wake up! There's no such thing!"

"I never thought so, House, until I met you."

"You're thinking of somebody else, Johanna." He lowered his voice. "Roger McRoger, for instance. There's a Prince Homo-Charming if I ever saw one. Young, chiseled jaw, probably stupid. All of the right equipment to be by your side. Unless it bothers you to be married to someone who's prettier than you are."

She stared at him, speechless, and then her eyes darted around the room. House knew what that look meant. She was going to throw something at him, preferably something very hard. He turned toward the secret door, but instantly she was there, barring his way.

"Don't you _dare _speak that way to me!"

He adopted a light, carefree tone. "What way, your Highness? It was merely an observation of the obvious."

Suddenly, she flung herself at him, so hard that House landed backwards on the bed. "You—you cad!" she yelled.


	37. Chapter 37

**WARNING: SMUT! NOT SAFE FOR WORK!**

House fell back with an"oomph!" his knees dangling over the side of the bed. His impulse to say something nasty was instantly overruled by his dick. He clutched her head and pushed his mouth onto hers. She shook her head, trying to get up, but he kept her on top of him, kissing her until he felt her stop fighting.

"There," he said, out of breath.

"You're covered with dust," she said, her voice quieter, but still with an edge of anger in it. "Take back what you said."

"We're not children, we don't—"

"Take it back!" she wriggled on top of him, again trying to get free. The motion was causing a roaring in House's ears. "Damn you, House, take it back!" Tears were glistening in her eyes. "Take it back!" He felt her breath against his face.

"Oh, _God_," he muttered. "I take it back. I'm…I'm sorry. And extremely aroused. But you're lying on my leg."

"Oh!" He let her up, and she scrambled to her feet. "Your poor leg!" Johanna attempted to help House swing his legs up on the bed, but he grabbed his right leg and pulled it up himself.

"You can't touch it," he said in warning.

"I won't, I promise. Move over."

House scooted over on the bed, the part of his mind that was not ruled by his dick wondering if this was the smartest thing to do. Johanna hopped up and sat beside him.

"You have such striking blue eyes," she remarked.

"Dust brings out the color."

She kissed him softly on the mouth, brushing the dust from his face and ears. Gently, she pressed down on his shoulder with her other hand, and House let himself lie back on the bed. He noted where his cane was in case she went batshit on him again.

But she didn't. Lying beside him on the bed, her left hand explored the stubble on his chin, and so lightly he could barely feel it, his Adams apple. "You're so fortunate," she whispered.

"Why? Because I'm handicapped?"

"You haven't the faintest notion." There was something in her voice, but he couldn't place it. She rolled over and faced him.

House stared over up at the canopy, willing himself not to respond. But as if it had a will of its own, his hand reached up and touched her cheek. She turned her face in and kissed his palm. Again, as she had that morning in this bedroom, she took his hand in hers and nuzzled it. And again, it caused emotion to well up in House that he fought to keep down.

Unable to speak, House put his hands in her thick hair, enjoying its thick softness, and slowly he lowered his eyes. They were moist; he blinked the moisture away. He turned, until he was lying on his left side, facing her. But he could not meet her gaze.

They on the big bed, silently, slowly running their hands over each other, as gentle as feathers. The fabric of her dress was rougher than he expected. He slid his hand over her shoulder, and tugged down her bodice. Without making a sound, she undid the buttons of her dress and spread the bodice open wide.

House's hands slid between her skin and the rough fabric, fondling her chest, drawing lazy circles around the nipples and aureoles. She allowed herself one small gasp, stretching her neck against the pillows. He slid down and started sucking, teasing them with his tongue. He felt her shiver, and she in turn tugged at his waistcoat.

Despite his growing urge to simply fuck her brains out, he unfastened the buttons of his waistcoat and tugged his shirt up until it made a clumsy cloth ring below his armpits. She pressed her chest against his, her lips skimming his neck. He was getting hard, and as ever, his breeches were not meant for this. What did all of the other men do when this happened?

"You're not the only one who's different, House," she said. To his surprise, she slid off the bed and walked to the foot of it. She wasn't looking at him; instead she stared into the middle distance. Her jaw was set in defiance; of what, he hadn't the faintest clue.

Puzzled, he sat up and watched, his shirt dropping down.

She struggled out of her dress. It fell to the floor, revealing her upper body, as well as multiple layers of silk and cotton petticoats. She had to untie the petticoats one by one, which she did clumsily; it was clear she had rarely undressed herself.

When the last petticoat dropped to the floor, she stood before him, naked except for her shoes and white stockings, tied at the top of her thighs with pink ribbons.

"I have been with many men, but I have never let _any_ man see my body before today," she said, still staring ahead, an edge of defensiveness in her voice.

Her body was v-shaped, with broad shoulders and smaller hips than many women, a slim waist and small breasts. House estimated they were barely a B cup. Her arms and legs were shapely and long. No wonder she was so tall.

In the 21st century Johanna wouldn't have been considered unusual, but in this age of soft curves and rounded shoulders, it was no wonder she thought of herself as a freak. She was clearly waiting for a reaction, and from her stance, she was not expecting a good one.

"You have a perfectly normal body," House said, and he meant it. His erection was getting painful.

"It's horrible," she blurted, her hands covering her chest. "So coarse and indelicate, so unfeminine. You're not the only one who feels…ashamed."

He put his hand out. Hesitantly, she took it, and he pulled her back on the bed. "Now, would I do this if I thought you were repulsive?" he said softly.

"I don't know." Instinctively she rolled up to hide herself.

"You have body dysmorphic disorder."

"What? Is it contagious?"

House almost said "Only if you have daughters," but he shook his head. "You have a distorted vision of your body. It can be alleviated by large doses of sex. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

House pushed her knees down. A twinge shot through his leg as he pulled himself up further, shifted and began kissing his way down her side. She put out a hand to stop him when he reached her waist, but he pushed it away, and kept kissing the soft flesh down to the top of her thighs. The softness and smell of her skin was so good he could hardly stand it.

"Stay there," he said.

He stood, and went to the same spot as she had, at the foot of the bed. Standing in the pile of her clothing, he undressed himself until he was also naked. Pulling down his breeches caused him to wince. "Free at last, free at last," he said as his member was sprung from those damned breeches. "You have the advantage over me, Johanna, you've already seen me nude," he said with a smirk, referring to the time she had tied him up.

He eased himself back on the bed, rolling her back as she had first pushed him down. He kissed her hard, on the mouth, and she pulled him down on top of her.

"I get it, you don't want me to see you," he said, with a gasp. "Sorry, no can do." He hoisted himself up, balancing on his hands on either side of her, bracing his knees on the bed between her legs. "I like the view." House bent his head and surveyed the lengths of both their bodies, the space between them and his stiff member.

She lifted her legs and intertwined them with his, tilting up her hips. "Enjoy it while you can," she said with a smile. She reached down and guided his penis inside her. He felt her engulf him, and shuddered with gratification. Looking down at her face, he saw her smiling. Thank God for the eth…he was able to thrust in and out of her, and she helped by lifting her hips, bracing her feet on the bed. Her hands ran softly up and down his arms, tracing the muscles, which was at once distracting and exquisite. His pace sped up, and she kept up with him, moaning and gasping. He groaned, feeling himself building up to climax. Unexpectedly, her hips shoved against his and he felt her coming.

"House, oh, please, please," she panted rhythmically, quaking as wave after wave of orgasm rolled through her.

"Oh, God," he gasped into her ear as he drove into her, feeling his body stiffen and shake. His entire world concentrated on the joining of their genitals as if they were one body. He pushed in again and again, as deeply as he could, losing all feeling of separation between them. He cried out as he ejaculated, his senses and thoughts scrambled.

When at last he rolled off of her, his body felt like a desert as he lay back. The air brushing against his sweaty chest and sticky groin felt cold.

As his reason returned, he thought, _What the fuck was that?_


	38. Chapter 38

House had to work fast. Johanna had fallen asleep, lying nude on the bed, face buried in the pillows. As carefully as he could manage, House slid off the bed. Then he stole over to where their clothes lay jumbled together, and gathered up everything he could find: shirt, waistcoat, breeches, stockings, shoes. And his cane.

He slipped, naked, out the secret door, trying not to drop any clothing as he headed back to his room. It wasn't easy carrying it with only his left hand.

When he reached his own bedroom, he dropped the clothing. Then he quickly latched the door shut. He had to be alone.

Pursing his lips against the pain, he sat in the armchair and drew on his stockings and breeches. Then he toed his feet into the buckled shoes.

What had happened with Johanna was completely irrational. Their bodies fusing as one? That made no sense whatsoever. House did not believe in the completely irrational. Particularly where he himself was concerned.

This was a puzzle that had to be solved. He could solve it if he left his emotions out of the scenario and looked at the facts.

The Wilson Side of the Equation: 

Fact One: Wilson was his only true friend in the world.

Fact Two: The first time he had seen Johanna—hell, even the second and third time—she seemed to look exactly like Wilson. It was disgusting, until it started to turn him on.

Fact Three: Then she started to look like Wilson's sister, if Wilson had a sister. That turned him on even more.

Fact Four: Sometimes she sounded exactly like Wilson. If not in voice, then in the yammering lectures and disapproval.

Fact Five: Wilson got him his drugs.

So, class, what could we draw from this? Was he in fact, hot for Wilson and somehow hadn't known it for _over twenty years_? Was he in love with Wilson?

The Johanna Side of the Equation:

Fact One: The Wilson thing.

Fact Two: She had one hell of a temper. That turned him on.

Fact Three: She was half his age. That turned him on.

Fact Four: She was sexually insatiable. Awesome.

Fact Five: She seemed to understand him. He didn't like that.

Fact Six: When she wasn't throwing things at him, she made him feel safe, cherished, and loved. Put that in the what the fuck category.

Fact Seven: For some reason he couldn't explain, he felt like she belonged to him. Whether he wanted to feel that way or not. One more for the what the fuck category.

Fact Eight: She didn't remind him of Wilson so much any more.

Fact Nine: She got him his drugs.

Okay, Facts Six and Seven had to be kept in the what the fuck category and examined later as to whether they were facts.

Again, class what does that tell us? He was hot for her. Really, really hot for her. But was he in love with Johanna?

House couldn't say yes, and he couldn't say no. Fucking illogical emotions, they screwed with everything. He'd thought he might be in love with Cuddy, but that got all messed up and now she was with Lucas anyway.

So why did Duke Asshole and Johanna upset him so much more than Cuddy and Lucas? Oh, shit, _more_ illogic. The puzzle had some pieces missing.

More facts, then. He desperately missed Wilson. He missed everything else, but more than anything, he missed Wilson.

He put his head on his cane and closed his eyes, wishing for once his mind would stop trying to make sense of it all.

He needed a different puzzle.

Shortly afterwards, he emerged from his room, to find Motherhips and Burton waiting patiently for him.

"Have you guys been standing here all this time?"

"Yes, sir," said Burton.

"Wow, you have the _suckiest _jobs. Where's the Queen Mother?"

"She's in her sitting room, sir."

"Lead me to it. Oh, and don't come in, I'm planning to have sex with her. Prince Louis didn't say I couldn't do that."

He limped behind them down the echoing hallway, sun shining through the windows. When they came to a wide carved oak door, Burton gently knocked on it.

"Your Majesty?"

"What do you want?" came the peeved voice from inside. "Gunther, see what that idiot nephew of mine is up to now."

Gunther opened the door. His displeasure at seeing House was subtly evident.

"And here I thought the only thing you pushed was her wheelchair," House said.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Gunther's mien became positively frosty.

"Please tell the Queen Mother that Captain de la Fontaine wishes an audience with her. How's that?"

"Very well, sir." He closed the door. After a minute, Gunther swung it open again. "Enter."

House looked at his two keepers. "Are the two of you going to stand out in the hallway while I'm in here?"

"Yes, sir."

With a snicker, House let himself be ushered into the royal presence.

As ever, the Queen Mother was dressed all in black, except for her feet, which had nothing on them. She was taking a footbath.

"Hello, Captain!" Bertha beamed. "You must pardon my informality, but I tried to walk earlier today, and my feet…I will not go into detail."

"Thank you, Bertha. Don't start walking too soon. Do you have crutches?"

"What are crutches?"

Christ, these people! "They support you when you're walking. I can have a pair designed and ordered for you from the royal carpenters."

"Speaking of carpenters," Bertha lowered her voice, glancing at Gunther. "Thank you so much for having my table leg sanded."

"It was my pleasure. Well, your pleasure, if you want to get technical. It was no trouble at all."

"I must say, Captain, between the improved diet and the leg exercises, I feel ten years younger!" She gave him an unmistakable look. "I might be on the lookout for a handsome soldier."

Inside he gagged, but outside he merely gave her a smile. "Always at your service, your Majesty."

"Hmpph," said Gunther.

"Gunther, leave us!" the Queen Mother snapped.

"Yes, your Majesty." Gunther withdrew outside, presumably where Motherhips and Burton waited.

"Bertha, I want to talk to you," said House.


	39. Chapter 39

_Summary: House learns more about Johanna's mad uncle._

The Queen Mother was clearly excited by having a private chat with Captain Whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was-supposed-to-be. House took a seat in a large plush carved chair that he had pulled close. He averted his eyes from her feet.

"Now, whatever could you have to talk to me about?" she said flirtatiously. "Is it about my granddaughter? Do you have something to tell me?"

House sighed. "No. Bertha, I've told you, I'm a commoner, I have absolutely no money, and what is it they say, no prospects, except being shipped back to my regiment. Prince Louis knows what he's doing. And I'm not the marrying type."

A frown creased her thick face. "Young people today. So captious. You're both in love—"

"In lust."

"It's a start. Gregory certainly will not make her happy."

It was a shock hearing his name. Why did that moron have to have the same first name? "That's not my problem."

"Well." Bertha flexed her feet, the water sloshing. "Could you ask Gunther to step back in here? I need to have my feet dried and my shoes back on. Unless," she added, "you want to do it."

House shot out of his chair. "I wouldn't want to offend Gunther by taking his job, much as I'd like to." With a speed that surprised even him, he went to the door, opened it, and stepped out. The three men were idly talking.

"Gunther!" House said. "The Queen Mother needs to be serviced, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, sir." It was clear that Gunther had come to despise him, which made House's day. Mom-Ass and Burton looked at him expectantly.

"Sorry, boys, I'm going back in there once Gunther is finished his dirty work," House said with mock-regret. "Pull up a couple of chairs. At least you can be comfortable while you're bored." Watching them both carefully, he pulled the glass bottle of eth out of his pocket (noting how little remained in the bottle), shook two tablets into his hand, and swallowed them.

It was exactly what he expected. Burton looked as complacent as a cow chewing its cud. But Mom-Ass's eyes lit up when he saw the bottle, and there was a hint of disappointment when House put it away. Mom-Ass was an eth addict. House tucked that away for future use.

"You may come in, sir," Gunther said, opening the door.

"And you may go out," House said, slipping past him. As he closed the door, he grimaced in pain. "Oh, God, my leg!" he exclaimed. "All of the stairs, and the walking—I'm in pain. And I have no more eth left."

"No?" Bertha looked at him skeptically.

"May I remind your Majesty that you only gave me ten cakes the other day? And Johanna is refusing to give me any more." He faked an agonized wince. "Please, Bertha." He had to close the deal. "I'll help you with your leg exercises."

"Oh, Captain!" The Queen Mother's smile practically split her mouth in half. "Yes, do!'

"I hope you don't mind if we do it sitting down," he said with a leer.

"No!"

Wow, not even a well-sanded table leg kept this old lady down. "There's just one thing before we start…"

"What?"

"I desperately need more eth cakes. Could you possibly ask Gunther to get me…oh, say, forty of them? No, that's far too many, how about thirty? Then I'll be able to put your ankle on my shoulder."

Ah, it was wonderful how quickly people came around when you appealed to their basest desires. "Now how can I resist when you put it that way, Captain? GUNTHER!"

When he stuck his head in, the Queen Mother ordered him to fetch thirty more eth cakes from Fendel the apothecary. Gunther gave House a long, slow look.

"I'll count them," House warned.

"Yes, Captain." Gunther slammed the door.

"Don't take too many," Bertha warned him. "It can have dreadful side effects."

"Such as what?"

"Foolishness, loss of memory, and a…pronounced lack of libido." She said this last _sotto voce._

"Seriously?" House wondered if he and Johanna would have ever gotten out of the bedroom if he wasn't on this stuff.

"Perhaps it is why you suffer from the loss of so much of your memory, Captain,"

"I think you're right!" House lied. He moved his chair closer.

"So, if it's not Johanna, then what did you want to talk to me about?"

"I wanted to talk about your older son." House leaned forward. "What made you think he was insane?"

There was a pause before she answered. "That is not…not a topic I care to discuss, Captain."

"Indulge me, Bertha. I'm a doctor, and there isn't much here to interest me. I can't spend all day reading hymnals. Actually, I can't spend more than a minute reading hymnals." He put on his rarely-used "concerned" face. "It will help you to talk about it."

The Queen Mother tilted her head and looked at House. "Now, you promised to help me with my leg exercises."

Again, House thought, _God, skullfuck me to death, will you? _

"You said you'd put my leg on your shoulder, Captain."

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" House cursed himself. He pulled his chair up until he was opposite her. Then he lifted her skirts to the knees, expertly tucking the material between her legs. Bertha evidently liked that.

Wordlessly, he took her left leg by the ankle and slowly swung it up towards his shoulder.

"OW!" Bertha squealed.

"No pain, no gain, your Majesty." He gently stretched the leg. Thank God she had taken a footbath and had her shoes on. He slowly lowered her leg, advising her to keep as still as possible, and then lifted her right leg, inducing another squeal. Again, he pulled on it gently. With it still on his shoulder, sitting more or less between her stout legs, he again asked, "What happened to your son?"

The Queen Mother drew a deep breath. "I loved William," she said slowly. "What happened to him…so unexpected. I thought he would be King long after my death. Not confined to a lunatic asylum."

"Is he married? Are there any children?"

House slowly lowered her leg to the ground.

"No, and no. He adored the fairer sex, but fidelity was a bit of a problem. Naturally we had arguments, because he needed to married to produce an heir. Johanna was never supposed to be the Queen, she hasn't the training for it. She's an intelligent young woman, I will give you that, and quite accomplished at many things. But politics, economics—they mean nothing to her. That's why my nephew feels that he should continue as the Prince Regent."

"How's that been going? Now, lift your left leg from the knee slowly ten times while I help you. And sit up straight." House had been in physical therapy several times, and this was what he could remember the physical didn't have to stand to do.

"Ugh—Does it have to be ten times?"

"You want to get stronger, don't you?"

"It hurts." She pouted.

"Too damn bad, Bertha. Now the other leg, ten times, slowly. Don't throw it up in the air, lift. So, William. When did his illness start to manifest itself? What were the first signs?"

Bertha looked at House. "It was so sudden. He was only thirty years old. William was a merry child and a cheerful young man. My other son, Johanna's father, had a glum temperament, but William made everyone around him happier."

"Now give me your left foot and push against my hands as hard as you can. He never became sad? Withdrew from society? Angry?"

The smile which broke out across his face when he took her foot was disturbing, but he had bigger fish to fry.

"No more than anyone else," she said. "But then, he started to act very odd. He saw things that weren't there, and shouted at them. Often at demons that were coming to take him to Hell." Bertha's face dropped. "It would stop, and he would seem normal, but more subdued than his former self."

"Push."

"You do have the most wonderful touch, Captain. No wonder Johanna likes you so much."

"Thank you…? Now the other foot. And push. You were saying?"

"Oof! He was an excellent King. His subjects loved him. He was judicious, fair, and refused to execute anyone. Now Louis, he executes people at the drop of a hat. We tried to hide my son's condition, but it only grew worse. He would stay in his chambers, crying out and talking for hours. Treatment did no good. He was purged, given caustic poultices, but that merely made it worse. It was with great sadness we had to have him placed in a mad house, far away from society. The night the doctors came, he flew into a rage. He kept screaming that there was nothing wrong with him, that we were trying to kill him. Poor William. It was one of the worst nights of my life.

"Then Johanna's father was crowned King the next year." She sighed again. "And now the Queen's brother Louis is ruling as Prince Regent. There's been nothing but trouble for the last few years."

"What kind of trouble?" He released her foot.

"The rebellion, you know. Of course you know, you're fighting those hooligans."

"Yes, _terrible_ hooligans. I'm sorry, my memory loss has me again. Why are they rebelling, Bertha? I should know before I go back to killing them."

"I'm not supposed to know, but they think I'm a foolish old woman. So they talk in front of me." She smiled at him again. "No more exercises? That felt wonderful."

"I can't stand without my cane, Bertha. You'll have to keep Gunther doing them with you."

"That's no fun at all."

"Into every life a little rain must fall. The rebellion?"

"Oh!" It clearly took a moment for Bertha to get her mind out of the gutter. "Yes, well, they don't like that Louis executes anyone who disagrees with him. It's wreaked havoc on our political system. And, from what I gather, the taxes he levies are _perceived _as unfair. But I doubt they are. That's why subjects exist, to be taxed. My late husband the King used to throw taxes about as if they were breadcrumbs to the geese."

"What do they want?"

"To unseat Louis and place one of their own on the throne. Can you imagine? Those uncouth, uneducated peasants trying to run this country? Louis might have his bad points, and there are many, but at least he knows his job." She sniffed. "And they don't have the breeding."

"That's true. The last thing this place needs is a democracy."

"What's that?"

"Forget it." Sarcasm was definitely lost on these people half the time.


	40. Chapter 40

**WARNING: MAJOR SMUT! NOT SAFE FOR WORK!**

Again, that night, Johanna didn't come to his room. House couldn't sleep. He kept finding himself on the right side of the bed rather than the center. It was totally obnoxious. Pretending to be hale-fellow-well-met was exhausting. He'd had Gunther haul the Queen Mother to her feet, then he used his cane to measure her for a pair of crutches. He had to draw them, figuring out the exact specifications. It would take a few days, but then Bertha could stagger around the palace, accosting anyone she so chose.

Finally, he fell into a restless, unhappy sleep.

It was still dark when he awoke. He was aware of Johanna in the bed next to him, and as before, he was curled around her, holding her in his arms. House was unaware of when she had snuck in. He'd latched the secret door, so she must have risked coming in the front. He didn't move, listening to her breathe in her sleep, the smell of her hair and skin filling his nostrils. It felt good to have her on the other side of the bed.

Carefully, so as not to wake her up, he nuzzled his head into the back of her neck and tightened his hold on her. He immediately fell asleep.

###########

He was in the hospital cafeteria with Wilson, half a sandwich House had stolen from him on a paper plate. There were people all around, but it was hazy and House didn't care. He tried to make a joke to Wilson, but nothing came out of his mouth. Wilson was looking at him, no expression whatsoever on his face. House tried to say something, anything, but no sound emerged. There was no sound at all. It was complete silence. House started to scream.

###########

"Wake up! House, wake up!"

House leapt out of sleep in a panic, panting. Then a moment of relief, when he realized it was a dream. Johanna was sitting up in the bed, leaning over him.

"You were crying out in your sleep," she said.

"What was I saying?"

"Nothing but inarticulate sounds, but you sounded so—frightened."

"I dreamed I was back at the hospital." Without thinking what he was doing, House curled up against Johanna, his head buried against his body. "The dreams are the same…nobody can hear me." His heart pounded, but he knew enough not to mention Wilson.

"What does the hospital look like?"

House didn't move his head. "I couldn't describe it to you if I tried. It's the finest hospital in New Jersey…where I came from. Damn."

"Poor House." Johanna put her arm around his shoulders. With her other hand she tangled her fingers in his hair.

"Where the hell were you tonight?"

She sighed. "I thought…with things as they are, I should learn to keep away. So that your memory isn't as vivid when you leave here. But I couldn't sleep. I tried the inner door, but it was locked. So I waited until I thought you were asleep, and then I stole in. It was too difficult to stay away."

He still made no attempt to move, slowly getting control of his breathing.

"If it helps, I think Grandmother cherishes the hope that once she is on her feet again, the two of you can run off together." Johanna chuckled. "And she would, too."

House moved his head back so he could see Johanna. "She'd wear me out. The way you do." Ah, this was more familiar ground. House tilted his head up. "Did you know that too much eth stifles the libido?"

"I'd heard that, yes."

"I can't imagine how much more we'd be fucking if I wasn't taking the stuff." His hand reached up and gently stroked her neck. She closed her eyes with a voluptuous sigh.

"House, when you touch me—it's indescribable."

"Describe it." His hand moved up, cupping her chin. Warmth filled his body as he felt the soft skin.

"It's too humiliating."

"Give it a shot. I like humiliation; you ought to know that by now."

Her eyes opened, and she smiled down at him. "Yes, I do. Hmmm…describe the indescribable. Wherever you touch me, it tingles and prickles."

"Sounds like a rash."

"Shut up! I feel what you can't say through your hands. Your hands are much gentler than your speech. I feel such tenderness and passion at the same time. Your fingers are so sensitive."

"It's part of my job."

"This isn't part of your job." Johanna's smile grew wider. "You want to ravish me, don't you?"

"All the time."

"I know." She started to say something, then hesitated.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter." She took his head in her hands, and lifted it for a soft kiss, her full rosy lips barely open. House returned the kiss, making no move to go faster, enjoying the sweet sensation of her tender mouth against his. Again he felt that strange atavistic urge to lick her face, to taste her skin, and it disturbed him. House had never done anything like that, except with Johanna.

"Ooooh, House," she murmured. "I want you to ravish me very, very slowly."

He sat up and slid his arms around her, both of them in their linen nightshifts, feeling her broad back, her spine, her shoulder blades, all so perfect and yet different from any woman he had felt. The heat between the two of them was overwhelming. He moved his arms up to her shoulders, and pulled her closer to him, his tongue delicately forcing her mouth open, moving at half the speed he wanted to. She kissed him back languorously, as if they had all the time in the world.

He felt himself becoming engorged, but in the semi-darkness he couldn't see if Johanna was reddening. Again he felt her cheeks, and they were indeed burning. She gave a small whimper, loath to let their mouths part. Equally as delicately, she slipped her tongue into House's mouth, and he sucked on it, causing her to gasp and shudder with pleasure.

He broke away. "I'm going to take my sweet time."

"I'm not sure that was such a good idea—" The lust in her voice was unmistakable.

"Tough titty. I refuse to speed up."

Again he slipped his hands around her waist, this time moving them down her back until he felt her strong buttocks. He gave them a hard squeeze.

"You like that, don't you?" he said.

"Oh, yes, yes I do. You're so strong, House, I want you to leave me black and blue." She paused. "But not where it's going to show. Just squeeze me with those wonderful hands."

House tried to rear up on his knees, but his leg hurt too much. "Shit," he said, dropping back down. "Damn leg."

Johanna leaned against him, careful not to force him to topple over. She rubbed her chin against his neck, then took a tiny bite, more like a nip.

"Ow!"

She slid her legs open until she almost straddled him on the bed, but she kept her body a few inches higher than his. House's crotch was starting to ache. He reached down to feel his hard cock, but she pushed his hand away and felt it herself. The squeeze of her fingers made him shiver.

"My goodness, aren't we impatient."

"You were the one who wanted to take it slow."

"I like knowing how much you want it, House. How much you want me." Her hand tightened on his penis. "You are rock hard."

"Tell me something I don't know," he said with an involuntary groan. Pleasure and anticipation filled him. She leaned down for a long, sensual, lingering kiss. House rose on his hips, pulling her hand away, so that he could rub himself against the linen of her nightshift. He groaned again as he felt the side of his penis against her. She lowered herself just enough to press down on it, but not enough to settle on his sore leg. _Damn, she had strong thighs_, he thought again, and that made him even more excited. His heart was pounding again, this time with desire rather than fear. She leaned against him lightly, and he felt her heart beating as hard as his. Slowly, lingering, she rocked back and forth against him, until he thought he would lose it. He grabbed her upper arms and held them so tightly she squealed in pain and pleasure. The blood was roaring in his ears, his whole body was saying _now, now, now, now._

But she'd said to go slow. He'd go slow even if it killed him, which felt perilously close. He freed her arms and tweaked each of her erect nipples, hard. She threw her head back and moaned loudly. "House, please, I can't stand any more."

"Oh, yes you can," he managed to say.

Johanna flipped backwards onto his bed, careful of his sore leg. House slid her hand into her crotch, which was soaking wet, and proceeded to play with her.

"No, oh my God, that feels so _good_—" her voice was ragged, and her hips were pushing into his hand.

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes, House, please?"

"How much do you want me to fuck you, Johanna?" Oh, god, his dick was starting to hurt.

"I want it more than anything. Please, please, I can't stand it any longer. I'm going to—I'm going to—" Her body stiffened and jerked, her eyes staring at the ceiling. "Oh my God! Oh my God!" Again and again her hips ground against his hand as he continued to move it. "Please, stop!"

"If you say so," he whispered, then pulled up her nightshift and pushed his aching cock inside of her. She was still spasming both inside and outside, and it took all of his self-control not to come as soon as he was inside. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in deeper. He almost felt like he was drowning in pleasure as he thrust himself like a pile driver inside of her.

"You horny babe, you like it, oh yes you do, tell me you like it."

"Yes, yes, oh my God, I can't stop coming, please—"

That last was too much for him. The muscles of his entire body pulsed and shook as he pounded into her, and at last he came, even as he felt her insides slowing down. He threw his head back and let out a loud cry as he continued to come, spurting inside of her. At last, he was finished, and he dropped down on top of her. For fun, he moved himself slightly, and she jerked again.

"Don't—_do_—that!"

"Why not?" he asked playfully, and shifted, causing her to jerk again. "I could do this all night."

"I can't. _Please_, House, get off me" She jerked again.

Grinning with delight, House climbed off and flopped down on the bed, gathering her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder.

"I didn't think I'd ever stop," she murmured.

"Ah, youth," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

Again they fell asleep. He had no more nightmares that night.


	41. Chapter 41

_Summary: House deals with his feelings the only way House can. Which is not good._

The next morning, when Johanna awoke, she smiled and rolled toward the pillow next to her. There was no one there. She reached out her hand and stroked the bed. It was empty.

Baffled, she lifted her head to see House fully dressed except for his frock coat, putting on his shoes.

"What are you doing, House? Is it late?"

"No. As you can plainly see, I'm getting dressed."

"But why?"

"Because that's what you do in the morning." He wouldn't look at her. "Run along and get into your fifty petticoats before Camille notices her mistress is missing. You'll be deprived of your plate of pigs lungs, and we wouldn't want that to happen."

Johanna stared at him. "I don't understand. Why are you speaking to me this way? Why won't you look at me?"

He gave an exasperated sigh. "In two days you'll be announcing your engagement to Gregory. Whatever you think you feel for me, he'll make you a perfectly good husband. Love doesn't have to go with marriage. Actually, I don't think it ever does. I have a friend who's been divorced three times. And next week I'll be packed off to the army." He kept his head down, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. "It's been fun, but it's over. The faster you get out of here, the better for both of us."

House felt Johanna's eyes on him. "You…you _bastard_."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"You pretended…you pretended…it was all a lie!"

House lifted his head and gave her a sour smile. "You would have found out eventually. For God's sake, don't start crying. You turn on the waterworks like that damn cherub fountain."

Johanna was clearly struck dumb. Then, swiftly, she grabbed a heavy silver candlestick from next to the bed and threw it directly at House. He ducked, and it bounced off the armoire and landed on the floor.

"Now that you've gotten that out of your system, please leave. You know the way out."

"You cold…there aren't _words_ for a man like you."

"That's why I'm so special." His tone was flat.

Continuing to stare at him in disbelief, Johanna slid out of the bed and made her way to the secret door. Wordlessly she unlatched it and slipped through, slamming it behind her.

House let out a long sigh and slumped in his chair.


	42. Chapter 42

When House emerged from his bedroom, he found Motherhips and Burton waiting for him.

"Good morning, fairy godmothers," he snapped.

"Good morning, sir," they said in unison.

"Great. I'm going to be followed around all day by Chang and Eng." House took the small glass bottle he'd found under Johanna's bed out of his coat pocket, having filled it with eth tablets. Watching Motherhips out of the corner of his eye, he shook two into his hand and swallowed them. Poor old Motherhips stared at them as though they were golf clubs he couldn't afford.

Silently, House made his way down the staircase, stifling any grunts of pain. When he reached the bottom, he made straight for the ballroom and the piano. It was odd to have the two footmen standing where Johanna had stood the other day. They didn't deserve the blues. Hip-hop briefly crossed House's mind, but he didn't know any well enough. He idly fingered the keys, playing "We Won't Get Fooled Again" by the Who, but he was too tired for that big opening scream. Finally he settled on "Push," by Matchbox Twenty. He hummed along as he played, and even though he didn't know the song very well, it was relatively well. About halfway through he sang to himself,

_I wanna push you around  
well I will, well I will  
I wanna push you down  
well I will, well I will  
I wanna take you for granted  
I wanna take you for granted  
yeah, well I will  
_

_She said "I don't know why you ever would lie to me,_

_Like I'm a little untrusting when I think that the truth is gonna hurt ya.  
And I don't know why you couldn't just stay with me,  
You couldn't stand to be near me when my face don't seem to want to shine  
'cause it's a little bit dirty."_

Well, don't just stand there  
say nice things to me,  
'cause I've been cheated, I've been wronged.  
And you, you don't know me  
I can't change - I won't do anything at all.

I wanna push you around  
well I will, well I will  
I wanna push you down  
well I will, well I will  
I wanna take you for granted  
I wanna take you for granted  
yeah, yeah, well I will

He looked up. Motherhips and Burton stared at him as if he had gone out of his mind. House grinned. "Any requests? I'm here all week."

"No, sir," said Burton.

"Please don't," said Motherhips.

That was all House needed. He started banging the piano.

_I like big butts and I can not lie  
You other brothers can't deny  
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist_

_And a round thing in your face  
You get sprung!  
Wanna pull up front  
Cuz you notice that butt was stuffed  
Deep in the jeans she's wearing  
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring  
Oh, baby I wanna get with ya  
And take your picture  
My homeboys tried to warn me  
But with that butt you got  
Me so horny  
_

_Fellas , fellas  
Has your girlfriend got the butt?  
Well shake it, shake it, shake it, shake it, shake that healthy butt  
Baby got back!_

_A word to the thick soul sistas  
I wanna get with ya  
I won't cus or hit ya  
But I gotta be straight when I say I wanna fuck  
Til the break of dawn  
Baby, I got it goin on  
A lot of pimps won't like this song  
Cuz them punks like to hit it and quit it  
But I'd rather stay and play  
Cuz I'm long and I'm strong  
And I'm down to get the friction on_

_So your girlfriend rolls a Honda  
Playin' workout tapes by Fonda  
But Fonda ain't got a motor in the back of her Honda  
My anaconda don't want none unless you've got buns hon  
_

_So ladies, ladies  
If you wanna roll in my Mercedes  
Then turn around and stick it out  
Even white boys got to shout  
Baby got back!_

"That, gentleman, is called kicking it old school," House informed the two stunned men.

"Was that even music?" asked Burton in genuine confusion.

"Depends who you ask. Me personally, I prefer Schubert, but sometimes you just have to _get down_, you know what I mean?"

"No," said Motherhips.

House grinned broadly. "I didn't think you would, Mom-Ass. As long as you're tracking my every move, I might as well entertain you."

"Yes, sir," they both said with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm.

############

It was a beautiful morning, sunny and warm. House almost enjoyed it. He and his "escorts" walked along a wooded path. He continued to torment them by singing the filthiest songs from every century that he could think of, even "Louie Louie," which even House didn't know the lyrics to.

They crossed an ornamental bridge that led to a huge green lawn. Sitting in the middle of the lawn at small tables with wooden folding chairs, holding parasols, was a small group of women. House recognized Johanna and Camille. He guessed the others were Johanna's ladies in waiting. Their heads were together, and soft laughter drifted across the lawn.

Rather than turn away, House limped to where they sat. When Johanna spotted him, the color drained from her face. She was again wearing the brown checked dress he'd seen the day she walking arm in arm with Duke Asshole. Then she smiled at him warmly.

"Good morning, Marmaduke!" she greeted him, as if they were the best of friends.

_Marmaduke_?

"Good morning, ladies," House said, bowing slightly.

Instantly a flurry of fans snapped up, the women looking him up and down.

"I've quite forgotten my manners, Marmaduke," Joanna said, still smiling. "Ladies, this is Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. I believe you have met Camille."

"Indeed I have. A pleasure to see you again." House smiled, glaring at Johanna. She returned his glare, unperturbed.

"This is Louise, Marie, Ethel, Regina, and Eliza," Johanna said. Each lady in turn bowed her head to House, giving him sly smiles. Louise was the prettiest by a good margin, in a blue dress trimmed with white lace.

"May I sit down?" he asked.

"Of course, Marmaduke," Johanna answered. "You are always welcome here."

"Burton, get me a chair." House continued to glare at Johanna. _Bitch, calling him "Marmaduke." _

Burton found an empty chair.

"Set it by Louise," House ordered. He turned to Louise and gave her a long up and down look. Louise was plumpish and red-cheeked with light blonde hair and a full-lipped smile. She hid her face behind her fan at his gaze.

"I have no secrets from my friends," Johanna said. "They all know about our liaison, if you can call it that." She turned to the ladies in waiting. "Marmaduke was _such_ a disappointment. I won't go into details, but perhaps he might fare better with one of you. But be warned; do not judge the size of sword by its scabbard."

There was a round of tittering.

"The sword won't fit if the scabbard has been used too often and stretched," House snapped.

"True, but if the sword is the size of a butter-knife the size of the scabbard hardly matters."

The assembled ladies burst into giggles. House's stare turned into a death-ray, but Johanna seemed completely unfazed. She merely smiled back at him.

"So," House addressed himself to Louise, "what did I interrupt?"

"We were discussing the engagement party," said Louise. "It's going to be wonderful!"

"How so?" He leaned toward her.

"Well, there's to be an enormous amount of guests, and a ball the night before at Duke Beouf-Sandwich-Moutarde's estate. With that many lords and ladies attending, one simply must have a ball."

"A ball followed by an engagement—such excitement!" said the woman House thought was Regina.

Johanna's expression did not change. "Yes, I'm greatly looking forward to it. Gregory is considered to be one of the finest gentlemen in Princeton-By-The-Sea. There is even talk of his having a political career. However, if he chooses to remain here at his estate, Pemberton, I shall be quite content. It is almost as large as our palace. And I shall be within driving distance."

"You're a very fortunate woman, your Highness." House inclined his head. He turned back to Louise. "Tell me more about the engagement party."

Ethel, a thin brunette in maroon who looked like she might have anorexia, gave him a gap-toothed smile. "There's to be a champagne punch with strawberries, and a whole roast pig!" she exclaimed.

"Gregory?"

"Captain!" Ethel exclaimed, and all of the women laughed, including Johanna. "How can you say such a thing about her fiancé? He's handsome, and has quite a fortune! The Princess couldn't do better. They will stand under a bower of flowers when the Prince Regent announces the engagement. So romantic!"

"That night will be even more romantic," Johanna said. "After all, I've held back from intimacy, but after we're engaged there will be no reason to do so. I'm quite looking forward to it. That night he will remain here, of course. And I forbid any of you disturbing me before noon. I anticipate being completely exhausted."

There was another round of feminine tittering. House wished them all dead.

Louise cocked her head, fanning herself. "I can hardly stand the waiting. Aren't you looking forward to it, Captain?"

"With tremendous anticipation, Louise. Perhaps we'll have a dance or two at the ball."

"Oh?" Louise looked at his cane.

"Marmaduke's movement tends to be somewhat hindered," Johanna remarked. "Including his dancing. Now, my good man, you must leave us. We ladies have a great deal to discuss, including my trousseau, the wedding date, my honeymoon—oh, but you wouldn't know about that. You've never been married."

"If I wasn't a confirmed bachelor before I sat down, I am now." House stood up without ceremony, and quickly limped away, Motherhips and Burton following as always. One more minute and he was going to crack Johanna's skull with his cane.

* * *

After a stiff, uncomfortable luncheon, House painfully climbed the stairs to his room. Motherhips and Burton followed. He'd minded his manners like a good boy, he hadn't even looked at Johanna. Louise looked like hitting that would be easy. Maybe at the ball…

At the door of his bedroom, he turned to his escorts. "Burton," he said, "I wish to speak to Mom-Ass. Why don't you find someone else to spy on?"

"I shall wait out here, sir."

"It's your feet. You really do have a sucky job."

"Yes, sir," Burton agreed.

Motherhips followed House into the bedroom. House latched the door, and indicated to the footman that he follow House to the farther reaches of the room. House sank into an armchair, and motioned for Motherhips to have a seat.

"I shouldn't, sir."

House lay his cane across his lap.

"Cut out the groveling bullshit, Mom-Ass. Tell me, why do you take eth?"

The footman's eyes widened. "I—I don't—"

"Crap. I see the way you look at these." House produced the bottle. "Each one a little stairway to heaven. Why do you take it?"

Motherhip's eyes met House's. "I have a sore foot, Captain. It bothers me terribly, particularly in wet weather."

"Which foot?"

"The left one."

"Even for an addict that's a shitty excuse. If you have a sore foot, how are you able to stand for hours without wincing when you walk? I've seen no sign of pain or stiffness when you're trailing around behind me like an annoyingly faithful dog. Even when we are going upstairs."

"I beg to differ, Captain—" Motherhip's eyes went to the glass bottle.

"You'd be favoring it if it hurt. Believe me, it's my area of expertise." House's eyes narrowed. "Come on, Mom-Ass, I down these babies all day. You must be bored out of your mind. Takes the edge off? Makes it easier to pretend to be one of the living dead all day?" He hooked a carved wooden chair with his cane and pulled it close. "Give."

Motherhips sank down into the chair with a defeated sigh. "It's partly the truth, sir. I did take it for a sore foot. But the effect on my spirits was such that when I stopped, gloom descended upon me, such that I knew the only thing that could dispel it would be more eth."

"Where do you get it? Fendel's tighter with the stuff than a hoarder with empty cardboard boxes filling his house."

The footman hesitated. "Fendel has an assistant. A young lad, very clever. He can be persuaded, provided it is only in small amounts. I have to cut my eth cakes in quarters, and even then I cannot take it every day, lest I run out too soon."

"How would you like ten eth cakes?" House leaned back. "You know I have a plentiful supply." He could see that Motherhips's mouth was practically watering.

"I couldn't, sir—"

"Bullshit you couldn't. If I dropped one on the floor you'd dive to pick it up. I have a proposition to make. What's in it for you is ten eth cakes. Maybe twenty if I'm feeling generous."

"But, Captain—"

"Take it or leave it. And not one word to Burton. Or that assistant will no longer be sucking your cock."

"Captain!"

"Go tell Burton to take a bathroom break, then come back here."


	43. Chapter 43

"So, what do you people use for money in this place?" House asked Mom-Ass. "Doubloons? Euros? Kraken?" He didn't care how bizarre the question sounded.

Motherhips was happily relaxed, grinning. Taking two eth cakes after barely scraping by on one-eighth of the dose meant it slammed into Motherhips like a truck. House could have asked him to strip naked and dance the waltz with the Prince Regent and Mom-Ass would have gladly obliged.

"Silly," slurred Motherhips. "We use coinage. Shillings, pence—you know that."

"Let's take the Prince Regent, for instance. Does he carry money?"

"Yes." Motherhips giggled. "Loads of it. Gold. The women of the palace are forbidden to carry any currency, but the Prince Regent can do what he likes."

"Where does he keep it? A bank?"

"What's a bank?"

"Never mind. Where does he keep it?"

The footman thought hard. "Most of it…in a vault at the palace in Rutgers. Here, whatever the land steward doesn't have, his Highness keeps in his chambers." He giggled again. "In his commode stand. Can you imagine anywhere more obvious? Every time the servants have to clean it, they see the money. I don't know who he thinks he's fooling. But he counts it all of the time, so he would know if any went missing. I wouldn't want to count money in a commode stand, would you?"

"I've done worse. Can you keep a secret, Mom-Ass?"

"Yes, sir."

House leaned forward conspiratorially. "You know I'm a soldier. I'm putting together a plan to sabotage the rebellion, and I'll need your help."

"Yes, _sir_!"

"The servants must know all about it."

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Tell me what you know."

Motherhips frowned and almost slid off the chair. House knew the feeling.

"Well, his Royal Highness is not well thought of by the population. He has levied a number of new taxes on them during his reign, which causes the merchants to raise prices on goods such as flour, potatoes…everything, in fact. Wages have not increased. One can see where the seeds of discontent have been sewn." His eyes drifted upward. "That ceiling is a _beautiful_ color. It doesn't help that the Prince Regent executes those whom he sees as opposition. Executions might be necessary, but, well, the people find it a bit excessive."

"Yes, I suppose they might. Who's leading the rebellion?"

If Motherhips hadn't been high as a kite, he might have wondered why a decorated soldier was peppering him with all of these questions, but it was obvious the man was too buzzed to care. "Don't know, sir. All we know is that it's a group. A very ill-mannered group, if you ask my opinion. They are particularly fond of robbing tax-collectors."

_Who wouldn't?_ House thought. But instead he said, "Mom-Ass, you are an invaluable source of information."

"Thank you, sir. Has anyone told you that you have the most beautiful blue eyes?"

"Everybody. So, what's the name of this assistant you're having a love thang with?"

A blissful look crossed Motherhip's countenance. "Alexander," he exhaled on a sigh. "Such a well-set-up lad. As Fendel's assistant, he can get almost anyone to do anything he wants for Fendel's nostrums. Except that he is stingy. When we started, he would give me five or six tablets at a time. Perhaps I please him no longer."

"That's how dealers work. They get you hooked on the good stuff, then either cut the drugs with something else or lower the available dose. Does Fendel have a—a—" House wasn't sure what the right words were. "An apothecary bag? A valise of any sort?"

"I suppose so, sir."

House looked closely at Motherhips's stoned face. "I want that bag."

"But that's impossible, sir!"

"I'm sure you could persuade Alexander to hand it over. Particularly if you insinuated that you found somewhere else to get your eth." House raised a hand when Motherhips started up. "No, I'm not going to be your pusher. You merely want him to _think_ you'll stop being a regular customer. You'll see his attitude change fast enough."

Motherhips thought about it. "But that's stealing, sir."

House drew himself up. "It's for the greater good, my man."

"For the greater good, sir." God, Mom-Ass was righteously high. "Anything you ask. I am your servant."

"Thank you for stating the obvious."

* * *

To make sure that Motherhips didn't screw up, House, accompanied inevitably by Burton, limped along with him to the apothecary. Instead of going in, Motherhips went around to the back, where there was a large herb garden, surrounded by high stone walls. Presumably to keep the servants from picking the good stuff.

House hung back, Burton standing next to him. The latter did not seem particularly fazed by hiding behind the back of the apothecary.

"What do _you_ want?" a young man's voice said. "The old man's out of eth cakes right now."

"That is no concern of mine," came Motherhips's voice. "I have found a new supplier. See? I have two right here."

"Where did you get those?"

"That is for me to know, Alexander. If you wish to resume my trade with you, my price is high."

House peered around the apothecary wall. Alexander was a handsome man in his late teens, House guessed, with dark red hair and copious freckles. He wore a laborer's long wool tunic. Motherhips was quite a bit taller, and looking at Alexander the way Caesar must have looked at Cleopatra.

"So, what is it you want?"

"I want Fendel's apothecary bag."

"You cannot be serious! Why not ask me to give you the entire apothecary while you're at it?"

"The bag will do nicely, thank you," said Motherhips smoothly. "Or it shall be reported what currency you trade in for your stolen drugs."

"You wouldn't!" Alexander stared up at the older man.

"I most certainly would. I want that bag brought to my chamber tonight, do you understand me?"

"Yes." Alexander crossed his arms, sulking. "Then you know what you have to do for me, first."

"Don't I always?"

As House and Burton watched, Motherhips spread a white handkerchief on the ground and knelt down upon it. He then proceeded to undo Alexander's breech buttons. Alexander's flaccid penis flopped out, whereupon Motherhips took it in his mouth and sucked eagerly.

"Holy crap," House said. This was not an image he needed in his head.

Alexander grabbed Motherhips's shoulders, as if he didn't care who saw them. His eyes closed, and he groaned. "Oh, yes, that's more like it. Suck it."

House became aware of something else, rubbing against his leg. It was Burton, rock hard, rubbing his clothed erection against House's good leg. He seemed to take no notice of House, but was intently watching Alexander and Motherhips.

"Oh, _God,_ Burton," House glared at him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but…I love to watch. Motherhips is a true artist. Oh, dear, he does it so…well…" Burton's eyes were clouding over.

"Hump somebody else, will you?" House tried to shift away, but Burton had him more or less pinned against the wall.

"Oh, my, oh, my, _my, my_," Burton gasped, rutting against House's leg. House gave up trying to get away and let Burton get himself off. Burton timed his thrusts with Motherhips's on Alexander's cock. Between the two of them, it was like watching a movie in Surround Sound. "Yes, yes, suck it, suck it," Alexander was panting, holding on to Motherhip's shoulders and hair for dear life.

Alexander and Burton came at exactly the same time. _I've heard of simultaneous orgasm but this is ridiculous._

House glared at Burton, who was wiping his forehead. "You realize you owe me for this."

"Yes, sir," Burton gasped.


	44. Chapter 44

**SUMMARY:** House has been assigned two footmen, Motherhips and Burton, to follow him everywhere and keep him away from Princess Johanna. Fortunately or unfortunately, Motherhips is a drug addict and Burton is a pervert. House has used this for his own purposes.

**A/N: **Set parallel to the beginning of Season Six, where Cuddy is with Lucas and House and Wilson are living together in the condo, back in New Jersey.

##############

"And some black paint," House instructed Burton.

"Yes, sir."

House stumbled over the rise on the door as they came in from the garden, and knocked into a column supporting a three-foot tall porcelain cherub. Motherhips grabbed the cherub before it could hit the floor and put it carefully back on the column.

"That statue is one of his Highness's favorites," he said.

"Figures," House muttered.

Burton and Motherhips followed House docilely into the ballroom, where House seated himself at the piano. He decided to be nice to them for a change. Soon, the strains of the Schone Mullerin" song cycle filled the air. They smiled like overage schoolboys. The Schubert helped to clear his mind. Watching Alexander go down on Mom-Ass reminded House of the time Johanna swallowed his cock behind the curtains. That seemed so long ago…could it have only been a few days?

And now she was going to get married to Mr. Potato-Head. The thought wrenched his gut. What was wrong with her, wanting to marry…well, a potato? Even if he was a "very nice potato"? Damn crazy-ass woman, making House feel warm and gooey inside, like a melted York patty on the sidewalk that you step on. House hated warm and gooey, no matter how good it felt at the time. It only meant that you were delaying the crap that was an inevitable as the sunset: arguments, boredom, drifting apart…

Warm and gooey sucked monkey balls. Mr. Potato-Head could have his damn Johanna. Maybe she'd fuck _him_ to death. It wouldn't take long, judging by the look of him.

_I have to stop thinking about that big slut,_ House snarled to himself. He banged his hands hard on the keys and slapped down the cover.

"Is something wrong, Captain?" asked Burton.

"No." House gave them an exasperated glare. He stood and limped out of the ballroom.

######################################################

Once again House retired to his bedroom, and quickly swallowed two eth cakes. Those goddamn stairs! Next time he was going to have Motherhips and Burton carry him up. Except that Burton would probably grab House's ass. It would be worth it not to have drag to himself up. His leg was spasming.

After locking the bedroom door behind him, House went to the secret door along the wall. He opened it and crept along the dark passageway. Instead of going into Johanna-Wilson's room, he cautiously stopped outside Prince Louis's chamber and listened. Silence. He waited for several long moments.

Nothing.

As quietly as he could, House opened the secret door. He felt just as assaulted by cherubs as he had the first time he looked in. Leaving his cane in the passageway, he quickly gimped over to the large velvet-covered close stool. It looked like an ordinary heavy chair, but he could make out the seam. He dropped to his good knee, grunting in pain, and swung up the top to reveal the hole and bowl below. The smell was disgusting; evidently his Royal Highness didn't care about having the stool cleaned, or the bowl.

_Thank God I'm a doctor,_ House thought, removing the large porcelain bowl (also decorated with cherubs—of course, Louis would want to crap on them), and reaching into the depths of the space underneath. His hand hit a soft leather pouch. It was extremely heavy, and made beautiful metallic sounds as House dragged it out. The pouch was also malodorous, but he ignored the smell and opened it.

It was filled with gold coins. Large, solid gold coins, and some smaller ones. House closed the pouch, shoved the bowl back into place, slammed the close stool top shut, then painfully lifted himself to his feet, using the chair with his right hand for leverage.

In an instant he was back in the passageway, the door shut behind him. He grabbed his cane and made for his bedroom, latching his secret door shut. Where to hide the (literally) stinking thing? How long would it be before Prince Louis discovered his stash was missing?

House opened his armoire. He surveyed the clothes inside. Gerhardt kept everything tidy.

House suddenly knew what to do.

A short time later, House again stole into Prince Louis's chamber, and slid the pouch back into place inside the close stool.

##############################################

It was early the next morning, Saturday, that House, followed as always by the two footmen, strolled to the apothecary garden.

"Have you done everything I asked you to do?"

"Yes, sir," they said in unison. House noticed that they both perked up when the garden came in site. Hoping for a donkey show, no doubt.

All of the herbs and botanical flora were laid out in neat rows. Quite pretty, as long as you didn't eat the wrong plant and end up dead. There was a shed at the other end of it.

"Alexander?" House called.

The door of the shed opened, and Alexander came out, dressed in the same clothes he'd had on the day before. That was probably the norm around here; only the gentry got to change their clothes more than once a month.

"What do you want?" Alexander's voice was high-pitched and sullen.

"A little tete a tete, my lad. You seem to know what goes on around here."

"Yeah?"

"I need some information."

Alexander regarded him for a moment. "Are you ready to pay for it?"

"Of course I am."

Alexander started to undo his breech buttons.

"No, not that way!" House turned to where Motherhips and Burton were. "Sorry, boys." He turned back and reached into his pocket.

A cat staring at a mouse could not have been more mesmerized than Alexander staring at the gold coin. "Will this do?"

"What do you need to know, sir?"

"Oh, it's sir now." House closed his palm around the coin, Alexander's eyes following. "I'm guessing that an enterprising young man traffics in other things besides drugs. Like, where the bodies are buried, who's doing what with who, stuff like that."

"Yeah. You certain you don't want to suck my willie?"

"I wouldn't put that herpes-riddled penis in my mouth if it was served with mustard sauce. No offense. What do you know about the rebellion?"

"You're a soldier, sir. You don't know anything I don't know."

"Not exactly. Where do they operate from? What's their central location? The army never tells the underlings. You know how that is."

Alexander smiled a slow smile. "If I told you, Prince Louis would have me executed. I'm no fool."

"Prince Louis is an asshole, Alexander. I'm not saying a word to him."

"Then why do you want to know?" The smile turned suspicious.

"I have my reasons. Do you want the gold or not?"

Alexander crossed his arms. It was obvious that he was weighing the value of his life versus what that much gold could get him. Maybe he could get his own cock sucked for a change.

"You probably want to get in good with your commanding officer, then." The boy shrugged. "I mean, I'm on their side, but a man has to make a living." He put his hand out. "Gimme."

"Not until you tell me what I want to know. And," House added, "you also need to get me twenty eth cakes. I'll give you two gold coins, how does that sound, you greedy little bastard?"

Alexander smiled. "All right, don't get your breeches all bunched up. Their headquarters have to keep moving. But right now they're about thirty miles outside of Rutgers, toward the north. There's a tavern there, the Frog And Peach, where you can get a message to the leader if you have to."

House looked at him. "How do I know you're telling the truth?" he asked, even though he knew the boy wasn't lying.

"You suck the right willies, you learn a lot."

"Ain't it the truth," House sighed. "Now go get me that eth."

Alexander ran towards the back door of the apothecary. House figured that by now he had at least enough to last a week, maybe two weeks.


	45. Chapter 45

Carriages had been arriving all morning, delivering the gentry to stay in the palace for the festivities. House knew he'd seen many of them on that first, strange night, the first time he'd seen Johanna. He couldn't help smiling at the recollection of diving under her skirts.

_When he'd said, "Let me guess; you've never felt this way before." _

_And she answered, "No, I've never been felt that way before."_

That line of thought led him to memories of their various encounters, and he felt a flush of lust. He saw her face under his, staring at him defiantly. Or swooning with pleasure. He remembered their last encounter, when she threw the candlestick at him. Sleeping alone sucked. House pushed her out of his thoughts.

Luncheon was served in the day dining room, and every seat was filled. The table was covered with delicacies, including veal roast, boiled fish and something called "cheese wigs".

Prince Louis sat at the head of the table, and the Queen Mother sat at the other end. Johanna sat at her uncle's left, and Duke Asshole sat next to her. The way he smiled at her made House want to punch him in the face. Since there were twelve servants to each guest, the room was stuffed with phalanxes of men in livery.

House was seated at the middle of the long table, unable to talk to the only other person who interested him besides Johanna, the Queen Mother. So he remained silent, hiding behind the persona of a gruff soldier, unused to making small talk. Since he was unused to making small talk, it came easily to him.

"So, Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine," said a pleasant-looking brunette on his right, "the talk is that you are to be decorated with the Golden Lion of Valor for your heroic conduct on the battlefield."

"Yeah," House said, and took a large bite of cold chicken.

"Your family must be so proud!"

"Haven't got one." He glared down the table at Johanna. She was talking and laughing at though nothing concerned her except the usual shit that brides-to-be prattled about. Then she caught his eye, and a sudden look of such misery crossed her face House's breath caught in his throat.

"That's so sad," the brunette said, and turned to the man on her other side. House could not stop watching Johanna, who had snapped back into the persona of a happy bride-to-be.

"When we catch the leaders of this rebellion, they will all be summarily executed in the main square of the capital!" Prince Louis was all but shouting. "And anyone who consorts with them, or has helped them in any way."

"Without a trial of any kind?" asked one of the guests.

"A trial is a waste of time. We know they're all guilty. We have to stamp out the scum before they cause any more trouble."

"So that new scum can take its place," House remarked.

"_What did you say_?" Prince Louis stared down the table at him.

"Nothing important, your Royal Highness. As long as the populace is unhappy, there will always be scum, as you call them."

"But you've spent your life fighting them!" said the brunette.

"Why do you think I know so much about scum?" House got clumsily to his feet. "If you ladies and gentlemen will excuse me, I have to go upstairs to use the commode. See you tonight at the ball."

########################################

Gerhardt helped House into his full dress uniform, complete with sash. House refused to wear the helmet, but allowed everything else. Gerhardt was invaluable, pulling and tugging the House into the tight clothing. It took quite a while for the two men to figure out, but at last Gerhardt was able to fasten House's sword and scabbard on the left side.

"Gerhardt, while I'm at the ball, I need you to pack my trunk," House said.

"But why?" Gerhardt asked.

"I'll only be here a few more days, so you might as well save some time packing my things."

"Yes, sir. We will be sorry to lose you, sir."

"Not as sorry as I am."

There was a rap on the door.

"What?" House yelled.

"It is time to leave for the ball, Captain de la Fontaine."

House looked at Gerhardt. "Has anyone ever told you that you bear an astonishing resemblance to Camille?"

Gerhardt frowned. "Yes, they have, sir. But I confess I can't see it."

"It's just as well. Gerhardt, do I have to wear this uniform to the engagement party?"

"I'm afraid so, sir. It is a sign of respect to the future bride and groom."

"Be here tonight to peel me out of it and back here tomorrow morning to peel me back in."

"Yes, sir."

House limped out of the bedroom. At least now the scabbard was banging against his good leg. Thank goodness for small favors.


	46. Chapter 46

Pemberton was a grand estate, all right. The house was not as big as the palace, but it was still pretty damned impressive. They had to drive through a long woods to reach it, and the house was set back on a slight hill for maximum visual effect. In front of the house was a long, rectangular man-made lake with flowers floating on top of it.

The carriage drove along the side of the lake, turned, and pulled up in front of the house.

_Welcome to Manderley_, House thought. The top occupants of the social ladder were pouring in; the ladies laughing and fanning themselves, the men offering both their arms and pleasantries. House wished he was dead. All of the hospital functions he'd been forced to attend, the idiotic donors he had to smile at. At least then he'd had Wilson to stand by his side and join in the mocking.

House passed through a spacious front hall, filled to bursting with people in evening dress. It was almost like a repeat of his first night here. At least he wasn't wearing that godawful helmet.

Many guests shot furtive glances at House as he limped across the room. He didn't know if it was because he was a cripple or because he was Captain Marmaduke Whatever-the-fuck his name was de la Fontaine. The dark paneled woodwork and furnishings were in excellent taste, House had to admit. Then he saw them:

Paintings of cherubs. Set in huge elaborate wooden gilt frames. Cherubs craning to look upward at Heaven; cherubs together in garlands of flowers; cherubs floating in blessing over sickeningly cute children.

"Fucking cherubs," House muttered to himself. How was Johanna supposed to live in another house filled to the brim with cherubs?

In the main drawing room, music played. The occupants were either engaged in conversation or country-dancing in practiced lines. House spotted Johanna, in a dark brown silk dress edged with lace at the square neckline, a thin ribbon around her hair. His stomach turned over, and he had to concentrate to keep his face still. Johanna had combed her hair down, he observed, which looked infinitely better.

And of course, she was dancing with Duke Asshole.

Then House saw the Queen Mother. She sat regally in her wheelchair, watching the dance floor, servants dancing attendance around her. As always, her dress was black, but she had a large white lace headdress that flared outwards over her white wig. The wig was slightly disconcerting, but House had observed that all of the ladies were wearing wigs in that style, save for Johanna.

House smiled a genuine smile. "Good evening, Bertha. What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Bertha looked up at him. "Trying not to vomit at the prospect of having to visit my granddaughter here."

"Oh, you'll love it. She'll be the envy of all of the ladies of the—what the hell do they call in the cheap romance novels—the _ton_. Think of it; the Duchess Boeuf de Sandwich Moutarde. Or is she still a princess?"

"Both," the Queen Mother said. "Captain, I understand why you can't marry her, why even a liaison is not feasible now, but I deeply regret it. You would be _such_ an amusing grandson-in-law."

"You just love me for your leg exercises," House said.

"It helps," she said lasciviously. "Instead I get Mr. Potato-Head. If only William were still the king, none of this would be happening."

"I'm sorry." He meant it.

A servant with a card on a silver tray stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, your Majesty, but Lord Encule-Cerfs wishes a word with you."

"Oh, bugger," said the Queen Mother. "I shall see you later, Captain, I hope."

"Of course."

He limped along the edges of the crowd, not letting anyone catch his eye.

Johanna was smiling at something Duke Asshole said. The Duke looked up and saw House.

"Captain!" Duke Asshole said, "Thank you for coming to Pemberton." He had his arm intertwined with Johanna's. She smiled wanly and bobbed a curtsey.

"It is my pleasure, Duke. Princess." House's eyes bored into Johanna's until she dropped hers. House had an urge to take Johanna by the arm and hurry her out. But he nodded and walked away, stomach churning with anger.

As he made his way through the crowd, a burst of high feminine laughter caused him to turn. It was Louise. Her blonde hair with puffed out at the sides with ringlets hanging from it, wrapped with blue satin ribbon, the same deep azure blue as her dress. Her impressive décolletage was sat off by the white lace around the square neckline of her gown. She saw House at the same time, and gave him a bewitching smile.

_I'll totally hit that._

"Good evening, Captain! I was so hoping that you would attend the ball!"

"Thank you," said House, staring at her tits. They certainly were more sizeable than Johanna's.

"I simply cannot bear it that you have to go back to the battlefield. You are so handsome, so intelligent, and from what I have overheard," she ducked her head, blushing, "quite athletic. I helped Camille set the breakfast table." Louise giggled. "Now you must think me quite naughty."

"Louise, that's a good thing. Come on; let's get out of this room."

It had been days without sex, and House was ready to fuck mud if he had to. Louise was a lot sexier than mud. So instead of Johanna, he was going to take Louise. Tomato, tomahto.

She made a giggling squeal. "Dare we go outside, Captain, beyond the range of prying eyes?"

"We dare."

"Ooo!"

They walked out the front entrance, past the late arrivals, past the lights, onto the broad green lawn. The water in the manmade pond sparkled. A perfect setting for some good outdoor poontang.

House felt eyes on his back. He turned.

Motherhips and Burton stood there, grinning foolishly.

"What the _hell_ are you two doing here?"

"We're not to let you out of our sight, Captain," said Burton. "His Royal Highness made a particular point of having us here tonight."

"Who are they?" Louise frowned.

"My keepers. Excuse me."

He walked over to them, glaring. "Listen, I'm about to score some pussy here, do you think you could, I don't know, fuck off?"

Motherhips stared. "With her?"

"Can we watch?" asked Burton eagerly.

House rolled his eyes. "Here's what you do…go into the edge of the woods. Motherhips, I command you to suck Burton's dick. Burton, I command you to watch Motherhips suck your dick. Do you understand me?"

Their faces lit up with glee. "Oh, yes, Captain!" cried Motherhips. "Then can we watch?"

"No."

Giggling like schoolgirls, the two footmen ran into the woods. House quickly limped over to Louise and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?" she squeaked.

"Somewhere those two lunatics can't find us." In the darkness House made out some topiary, cut in rectangular shapes. A maze—perfect.

"In here."

"Oh, Captain, you are so bold and daring!"

"It's the uniform." House turned and looked behind them. The shrubbery hid them from prying eyes. He turned to her. "So, you were saying I was bold and daring?"

"Yes! If only there were more men out here in the country such as yourself."

House leaned his cane against a bush, making sure it would not fall in. Then he slid his arms around her waist. She was slightly over five feet, so he had to bend slightly to do so. He was getting hot. The idea of seeing that bounteous bosom naked…

He leaned down to kiss her plump, red lips. But instead of the answering response he received a chaste, closed-mouthed kiss. He tried to kiss her more forcefully, but she jerked her head back. Louise looked genuinely shocked.

"Captain! You can't expect—you barely know me!"

House stared at her. "Then what are we doing in the shrubbery?"

"Because it's romantic." Louise lowered her voice. "A Captain and his lady…so madly passionate for each other they cannot contain their love!" She tilted her head up, eyes closed, mouth puckered for another little peck. House gave her a quick peck. Experimentally, he moved one hand to an expansive breast, and gave it a squeeze.

"CAPTAIN!" Louise jumped back. "What sort of a lady do you think I am?"

"Do I have to answer that? My blue balls are taking up all of my attention."

She pouted. "I'm well-bred, and I know better than to let a gentleman take liberties with me on such acquaintance. Even as handsome a gentleman as you." Louise's face softened. "I can imagine you on the battlefield, before your injury, striding about like the man you are, before you had to use a cane, two strong long legs—"

"That's it!" House grabbed her hand in one hand and his cane in the other, and hauled out of the maze. They were back out on the lawn.

"What did I say?" Louise asked. "I was merely saying you must have been a fine figure of a man before—"

"Shut up, you stupid blonde midget. Go back inside and find some whiny pimpled boy who'll put up with your simpering. I didn't go to the bushes to be a character in some idiotic fantasy you have."

He turned and limped off, ears burning. _Striding about like the man you are. Jesus Christ waxing the floorboards._

Motherhips and Burton were nowhere to be seen, for which House was profoundly grateful. He wanted to be alone. What Louise had said about his leg made him burn with shame.

He came alongside the house, and looked inside at the lights and people. They could all go to hell. Stupid, shallow morons, living their stupid, shallow lives, never giving a shit about anyone else. Fuck them all.

When he limped through the front entrance again, he glanced around for a door to a room that wasn't the ballroom. It was either that or drag himself up a tall, steep staircase.

"Where's the sitting room?" he demanded of a servant.

"This way, sir," the footman answered, leading him to a door partly hidden by the dark paneling, and opening it for him.

The door closed, and House breathed a sigh of relief. He could hear the party in the next room. The faint light coming in the leaded windows lay dimly on the woven carpet—House guessed it was Turkish. From what he could make out, there was the usual sitting room furniture, and a curved divan that in Victorian days was referred to as "a fainting couch." It later became a fixture in analyst's offices. Whatever, it looked comfortable. And the angle was right, so that his left leg and the scabbard faced outward.

Just as he was dropping into a comfortable snooze, there was a sharp rapping at the door.

"Go away! I'm stroking my throbbing manhood!"

The door opened. "House?"

It was Johanna's voice.

House did not attempt to sit up, although his heart decided to race like a champion thoroughbred. "Speaking of throbbing manhood," he said casually. Thank God it was dark.

"Louise came to me, crying, and said you insulted her in the shrubbery." Her tone was strained.

"If you're going to insult someone, shrubbery is the idea place to do it. The little twit is frigid. Not that you care—"

"Not that _I _care? Who was it that ended our—our—"

"Fucking spree." He hated himself.

"But why _Louise_? Is it because she is so delicate and feminine?" Her voice shook.

"No, because I thought she was so easy. I was wrong. My bad." He paused. "She did mention how handsome I used to be. Before my thigh got cut off."

"What a little fool!"

"Yeah. Pity you didn't know me then."

"You know I don't care about that. I know you now." Johanna closed the door behind her. "You don't want me to marry Gregory."

"He wants to marry _you. _Isn't what counts in your life? What your uncle and your tutors and God knows who else tells you what to do? You wouldn't want to disappoint them, would you?" House crossed his arms and looked out the window at the night sky.

There was a long silence. "No. Yes. I don't know, House."

He could hear her skirts swishing as she came toward him. Oh, no, once again his penis was overruling his better judgment. Her familiar smell drifted into his nostrils. Sweet Jesus, don't let her come any closer…

Johanna knelt on the floor by the divan. House couldn't quite make out her form in the semi-darkness, but he could see her face. He had to look away.

Her right arm slid across his chest. "I hate this uniform. I hate what it means. I hate that you're going away. I hate that you might—might not come back."

"I don't intend to go back to the army, Johanna."

"But you have to—the ceremony—"

"Just because I have to go through the ceremony doesn't mean I have to go back to the army." His hand reached over and stroked the side of her face. She nuzzled into his palm, as she had done so many times, with a sigh.

"What are you going to do?"

"I can't tell you that. But I'm not going back to the army."

"Are you—going back to wherever it is you came from?"

House brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. He was getting extremely hard, which ran counter to the seriousness of the conversation. "I don't know how. If I did, I would have gone long ago."

"Then what do you mean, you're not going back to the army? House, you're not going to do something drastic, are you?"

"It's none of your business, Johanna."

"But you can't! You simply can't!"

"I didn't say I was going to. You're inferring it."

"Please, no, House, don't be clever. Be anything else, but don't be clever."

"How about this?" House took her hand and laid it on his crotch, so she could feel his erection.

"I'm not Louise."

"Thank God for that."

She rubbed his erection through his clothes, lightly, with the palm of her hand. House couldn't stop a gasp from escaping. "No, I am mostly definitely not Louise," she repeated, bearing down slightly on the tightness of his breeches, rubbing up and down, the pressure varying with every motion. House felt his back arch and the scabbard hit against the divan.

"Terrible, isn't it, feeling the way you do with no release?" she asked quietly.

"You forget," House panted, "I've learned how to undo my breeches." He reached down to the buttons, but she pushed his hand away. Then she laid her head on his clothed penis, moving it back and forth, first her cheek, then her chin. He was going to come in his pants if she didn't stop, this was the most delightful torture, why did she always have this effect on him? Again with her left hand, she reached down and squeezed his balls through the satin, and pinpoints of light bounced off House's closed eyelids.

".GOD," were the only words he could manage, although plenty of gasps and grunts left no doubt about how he was feeling. His back arched again, and again the scabbard knocked against the divan.

"Take, take that thing off me," House gasped.

"Don't worry about it," she murmured, and climbed on top of him, pulling her copious skirts with her as she did. Half of them draped over the back of the divan as she gingerly lowered herself on top of him, her left leg resting on the top of the divan so as not to put any pressure on his right leg. She opened her legs and, despite her dress, ground against him as hard as she could, letting her body weight rest fully on House. He could feel her legs open under her dress, her crotch grinding against his cock. He made a keening noise of pleasure as she pressed down against him. Her mouth pressed against his, and once again her expert tongue darted into his mouth. He sucked on it, hard, swirls of electric torment shooting through him. He was keenly aware of the warmth between their bodies.

"Johanna, oh, fuck, shit, you're killing me—"

"It feels good, doesn't it? You want me, don't you?"

"Oh, fuck, yes, yes, I want you." As if it had a mind of its own, his body was bucking and arching like a bronco, his penis was starting to ache, he was losing his mind. She leaned down and her tongue lightly flicked his neck, then she nibbled his earlobe and stuck her tongue in it. House yelped helplessly at how good it felt. Her mouth and tongue playfully worked their way down his neck, then she lightly bit his chin. His hands scrabbled at her dress, but she continued to push them away.

"Tell me what you want to do to me, House," she whispered.

"I want to—oh _JESUS_—I want to shove my dick into you and fuck you senseless, I want to bite your breasts, I want to spank your ass."

"What else?" Her voice was thick.

"I want to grab your shoulders while I fuck you, I want you, oh shit oh shit oh shit—I want you. Please, please—" he could hear his voice going into a high-pitched whine, but there was nothing he could do about it, as intolerably intense levels of pleasure tore through him. It was going to take an act of God to keep him from coming the instant he shoved into her.

Abruptly, she climbed off of him, pulling her skirts along with her.

"What the hell--?"

"I want you to think about this when you hear my uncle announce my engagement tomorrow. Goodbye, House."

She clicked the door shut.


	47. Chapter 47

Long after the guests had been deposited back at the palace and gone to bed, House was awake. Gerhardt had indeed helped House peel off his uniform, but instead of a nightshirt, House wore a plain white shirt, brown breeches and buckled leather shoes. How did the other men stand wearing stockings? Did they itch as much as House's did? Speaking of which, he intended to take a long bath before the engagement party.

He glanced out of his bedroom door. His two guardians were nowhere to be seen. House returned to his room. From behind a curtain he carefully withdrew a bucket of black paint. He guessed by the smell that it was pine resin which had been burned into carbon. The lack of a paintbrush was annoying, but he balled up the pair of stockings he had been wearing. When in doubt, dab.

The vast hallway was quiet. Holding the paint in his left hand, the cane in his right, and the stockings in his mouth, House did his level best to steal down the hallway without making too much noise. At one point a door opened and House ducked into the darkness. It was a male guest leaving a female guest's room, with much tittering and dirty chuckles. House waited until all was clear. Then he continued to the stairs.

Not spilling the paint was uppermost on his mind. If it splashed on his clothes that was one thing, but if it splashed anywhere else…

He made it to the ground floor, and quietly snuck down to the front entrance. Once outside, he headed toward the stables. There were a great many carriages parked by the stables, of all styles and sizes. House stopped and listened. Nothing but the chomping of hay and stomping of hooves as the horses moved about in their stalls. The air reeked of horse manure. It was dark, which made sense. With all of the hay and grain, a lantern or candle could easily set the entire stable aflame. House breathed a sigh of relief and limped along the line of carriages until he found the one he wanted.

#############################################

When he was done, House left the paint in the corner of the stable, and tossed the rags into the bushes.

In the garden, servants were milling around, setting up for the party. Torches were lit for them to see by, as they arranged tables and chairs. Two florists were setting up the bower of flowers that Johanna and Duke Asshole would stand under. The lights in the servants' quarters, kitchen and other work areas were all lit. It was too dark for House to see what kind of flowers, but he guessed white roses would be a prominent feature. Short hair and white flowers to symbolize purity_, ha!_

He stood for a moment, taking it all in, then slipped through the garden entrance back into the palace. Again he almost knocked over the large cherub statue, but he managed to grab it before it toppled off the stand. As he settled it back, an idea came to him.

Maybe a cherub could be a good thing.


	48. Chapter 48

**SUMMARY**: It is the day that Princess Johanna's engagement to Duke Beouf-de-Sandwich-Moutarde is to be announced. Word count: 1400

###############################################

It could not have been a more beautiful day. The sky was blue, the sun poured down; there were even songbirds outside House's window.

"Shut up," House muttered as he peed out the window onto the cherub statue's head. It had become a morning ritual, and the head was becoming permanently stained.

"Good morning, sir." Gerhardt beamed. "What a perfect day! The engagement breakfast is going to be served in half an hour."

"Engagement breakfast?"

"With so many guests, the Prince Regent must a formal engagement breakfast served. There will be more guests arriving all morning." Gerhardt could hardly contain his excitement. "It has been so long since there was any event such as this here! Young love…" his voice trailed off as he remembered Johanna had not exactly been faithful to her fiancé. Particularly in this bedroom. "My apologies, sir, I wasn't thinking."

"You're getting paid to clean up my bowel movements, not think," House said. He was preoccupied. "Bring breakfast to my room. It's too early to face those self-satisfied tyrannical twats. Come get me before the festivities start."

Gerhardt slunk out. As soon as the door clicked shut, House went to the armoire. Most of his clothing had been packed away. He had stowed the apothecary bag on a high shelf out of sight. Thank God Gerhardt was short. House pulled the heavy brown leather bag down, and rooted around until he found what he needed.

House smiled. This was going to be one _hell_ of a party.

######################################################

Johanna was dressed in white, the way House had first seen her, her dress trimmed with sheer blue organza on the shoulders. She was also wearing the tiara he had seen on that first night. For whatever reason, she didn't look freakish anymore. She accepted congratulations as she made her way through the thicket of visitors, smiling half-heartedly.

House stood at the garden entrance, in full military uniform. He leaned on the doorsill and surveyed the scene. It was so tooth-breakingly sweet it could have been a Jean-Honoré Fragonard painting. White-wigged servants were everywhere, tending to the needs of the dozens of guests seated at tables covered with white clothes. The women's' dresses were all colors, mostly blue, shades of purple, and white; their hats wide beribboned straws that swooped over their large wigs. The men were in their finest satin and wool coats, hair tied back in ponytails. A few small children ran around.

The Prince Regent was set back from everyone else on a small dais, seated on a gilt throne that was presumably much lighter than the one in the throne room. Naturally, where Prince Louis went, cherubs followed—carved into the throne, embroidered into the rug the throne and dais stood on, two particularly annoying cherubs seemingly blessing the occupant of the throne. Louis himself was attired in a long robe and small crown, looking extremely pleased with himself.

There were long wooden tables holding refreshments, and at each there was a large silver punchbowl, filled with champagne punch, strawberries floating in them. The kitchen servants were just bringing the bowls out.

House strolled along the outer edge of the party, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a small vial and palmed it.

Camille, Louise and the other ladies-in-waiting were seated at a flimsy table. House stopped by.

"Good afternoon, ladies! You are all looking exceptionally well," House said, smiling so cheerily his face almost broke.

"Why, thank you, Captain!" Camille giggled and hid behind her fan. Louise pointedly looked away.

"Louise, so coy after our passionate encounter in the shrubbery?" House asked in faux amazement. "Camille, she is a very naughty young lady. She even taught me a few tricks. Ask her about the one with the cherry stem." He nodded and limped away.

In the crowd were several other members of the military. House made sure to stay out of their way.

As he limped by the first punchbowl, the liquid shining in the sun, the strawberries as red as lipstick, he shook several drops into it from the vial he was carrying. Slowly, smiling and nodded to the assembled company, he made the circuit of the gathering until every punchbowl had been similarly spiked. He put the vial back in his pocket, then pulled off his gloves and tossed them behind a hedge.

"Captain! Captain!" House started and turned to see the Queen Mother being rolled toward him by Gunther. As usual, Gunther looked less than pleased to see him.

"Good afternoon, Bertha," House said.

"The devil it is," Bertha snarled. "Watching Johanna announce her engagement to that jackanapes…I wouldn't be out here if ceremony did not insist upon it. My one consolation is that you are here. But it must be very hard for you, Captain."

"Yes," House said, watching the guests being served champagne punch and cakes.

"I have a surprise for you, however," Bertha said. "Gunther!"

"Yes, your Majesty." Gunther went around to the Queen Mother's front, and with a bit of huffing, slowly pulled her dumpy frame to its feet. He stepped back, holding her by the forearms.

"You see, Captain?" Bertha asked eagerly. "I am standing! I have not stood since…since…oh, dear…" With Gunther's help she sank heavily into the wheelchair. She was panting from exertion.

"That is outstanding, Bertha," said House, and he meant it. "You must have been working at it day and night."

She looked slightly sad. "I want to be standing by the time Johanna gets married, even if it is to that…thing."

Duke Gregory, a broad smile plastered on his smug face, was eagerly shaking hands with the other men, guffawing and winking. House glanced over to Prince Louis, who was being served a goblet of punch.

"I'm sorry, Bertha," House said. "There's something I need to tell you, and I want you to take me seriously."

"Why on earth are you talking that way?" Bertha looked up at him, alarmed.

House looked into her eyes. "Whatever you do, don't drink the punch."

"Why?"

"Just…don't. Promise me."

"Very well." She frowned. "I don't see why it matters all that much to you."

"Champagne on a hot day, for a woman your age, well, let's just say the results would not be pretty. You don't want to impair your newly-found skills. Drink champagne tonight, when it's cooler." House thought that was one of the stupidest lies he had ever told, but it seemed to work. Bertha asked Gunther to fetch lemon water.

Gregory was not drinking the punch; he was too busy glad-handing his fellows. Johanna saw House, and her jaw set. She turned her head so she didn't have to look at him. He stared at her.

The bower of flowers was out of a fairy tale; white roses and other white flowers and green vines intertwined over a white gazebo-like structure on a platform; a set decorator could not have done any better. Vine tendrils hung down at perfect scenic points. It screamed Young Love.

A man House didn't recognize, probably some Lord, stepped up onto the bower and addressed the company.

"His Royal Highness, Prince Louis!"

Everyone stood as Louis was escorted to the throne by a slightly puzzled servant. Louis was having a bit of trouble walking, but he was smiling broadly. He was helped up onto the platform.

"My royal subjects," he began, "this is one of the happiest days of my life." Abruptly he turned and snapped at the servant, "Get those two up here!"

Johanna and Duke Asshole were quickly brought to the bower and took their sides by the Prince Regent.

"As I was saying—what was I saying?" he asked Gregory. The Prince paused. "Are not the flowers bewitching? The edge of each petal, the roses opening their glory to the sun like a maid opening her legs to a man, nature untamed yet tamed—"

Gregory and Johanna stared at him.

"Your Highness, you were going to say—about Johanna and me?" Gregory prodded.

"What about it?" the Prince asked, gazing intensely at a vine tendril.

House observed the guests. Many of them were having trouble standing, and as he watched, more and more sat down. Some were staring straight ahead, one or two were laughing, and many were talking animatedly about God-knows-what, not necessarily to someone else. The servants looked at each other in bafflement. Except for four or five that were in a similar condition.

Duke Asshole looked at the crowd and cried, "What is wrong with all of you? Don't you realize this is a solemn occasion? Attend!"

"Why?" asked Prince Louis dreamily.

Johanna stared incredulously around her. "Has everyone gone mad?"

"I don't know," Duke Asshole said. He cleared his throat. "I apologize for his Highness's sudden fit of—of sunstroke. It has become my immense pleasure to announce the upcoming betrothal of her Royal Highness Princess Johanna and—OOF!"

He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.


	49. Chapter 49

_House kidnaps Johanna, aided by…who?_

_Please keep reviewing…it helps me keep writing!_

Johanna stared at the shattered remains of what had once been a three-foot-tall cherub statue, scattered around Duke Asshole.

House shrugged, holding the remains of the base. "He didn't drink the punch. Had to do something."

"Captain, my captain," slurred the Prince Regent, and then turned his attention back to examining the flowers. The servants were rushing to help the guests, some of whom were slumping to the ground unconscious. One man was standing on a table screaming "Excalibur!" and waving a lamb shank. A woman stood, staring into space, chanting: "In Xanadu did Kublai Khan a stately pleasure dome decree…"

"Come on!"

House grabbed Johanna's right arm in an unbreakable grip, and pulled her out through the back of the bower of flowers. He limped as fast as he could, trying to pretend that his leg didn't hurt.

"What—what are you—what did—"

"Shut UP!"

He pulled her through the grounds. She didn't resist, in fact, she leaned against him slightly to help him go faster. They came to the front of the palace and the curved round driveway. House halted, glancing over his shoulder. Nobody was following.

"I have some unfinished business," he said, pulling Johanna to the enormous cherub covered stone fountain that stood in front of the palace. He hooked his cane over his arm. Quickly unfastening his buttons with one hand, he pulled out his penis and peed into the fountain.

"I've been meaning to do that for days," he said with a sarcastic smile, doing up his buttons. "Some people throw pennies, I throw urine."

In the driveway stood two identical black carriages, each hitched to four black horses, facing in opposite directions. But not quite identical. The one on the left had two drivers, the other did not. And the one on the right had gold fittings that gleamed in the afternoon sun.

Johanna veered toward the one on the right. "That's the royal carriage!" she said. "But where are the cherubs on the sides?"

"I painted them over last night. Too much trouble to paint the goddamn things on the other one. Gimme that tiara."

"Ow!"

House pulled it off of her head and tossed it into the royal carriage's passenger compartment. He followed it with his helmet. Then he slapped the lead horse's flank hard with his cane.

"Go! Go!"

The horse whinnied, and all four of them took off, pulling the empty royal carriage away with them.

"Get in!" House practically pushed Johanna into the second black carriage, then thumped the top.

The driver cracked his whip. The horses plunged forward, causing the carriage to sway wildly. Johanna collided hard with House's leg, and he swore.

"What are you doing, House?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" he panted. "I'm kidnapping you."

"But why?"

"Not _now!_"

House gripped the edge of the black leather seat as the carriage swayed and dipped. Through the back window House could see the palace receding in the distance. No one was chasing after them.

"They'll find my trunk, my other uniform, helmet and your tiara in the other carriage." House had to shout over the noise of the carriage and pounding hooves. "I packed everything last night. They'll start looking in the wrong direction. And if your subjects are as dim as they seem, we won't get caught for a while. If ever. "

"Who's driving?" Johanna stared at the ceiling of the carriage.

"What?"

"Who's driving the carriage?"

"Tell you later. Hang on!"

The carriage careened down the roadway leading away from the village, instead heading for the woods.

"Did you say Rutgers was a four days drive from here?" House yelled at Johanna. She was cringing away from him, eyes wide. She nodded.

"North?"

She nodded again. "What did you _do_ to everyone?" she exclaimed.

House smiled, and patted his pocket. "I'll tell you when I don't have to scream my lungs out!"

"What if they do catch us?"

"Then I'm a lot stupider than I think I am."

A sideways lurch flung Johanna against his bad leg again. "Mother_fucker_!"

"I'm sorry, House!"

She held on to the leather strap on the other side of the top of the carriage wall, and hauled herself over him, her skirts dragging across, until she was sitting on his other side.

"Better?" she yelled.

"Better!" he yelled back. The carriage pitched and House used the opportunity to throw his arms around Johanna to steady himself. He kissed her, hard, his lips feeling the delicious warmth of hers. She didn't resist, instead letting her mouth open just enough to let him slide his tongue in, and she sucked and nibbled at his mouth. The pitching and swaying of the carriage made kissing even more fun, if fun was the right word for something so passionate and right. It felt almost like a carnival ride, as their mouths explored, sucked, bit, each of them gulping saliva, trying not to stop to breathe. House couldn't stand how aroused Johanna made him. Again, there was that feeling throughout his body that she was _right. _Too damn bad they couldn't have sex in this thing.

When she pulled away for air, he smiled at her.

"Remember what you said to me in Duke Asshole's sitting room?"

She nodded, smiling back, eyes half shut.

"I remembered, and that's why I kidnapped you. I'm a _really_ sore loser."

"Shut up, House," she said, and kissed him again.


	50. Chapter 50

_Summary: Johanna had some unexpected plans, and House mentions Wilson again. Bad move._

Dusk touched the tops of the trees when House signaled the carriage to stop. They were deep in the woods. The light dappling through the leaves was significantly less than when they had entered. The quiet rustling of a stream sounded nearby.

Johanna's white dress was crushed by being flung about the carriage; House had quite a bit to do with that too. The drivers hopped down to help them out.

"I almost fell off," said Motherhips, dropping his cowl.

"I wouldn't have let you," Burton said affectionately, also pulling down his cowl. He put his hand out to help Johanna down, and then House.

Johanna stared at them, and then House. "Who are they?"

"His Highness assigned them to make sure I kept far away from you at all times. I'd say they failed miserably, wouldn't you?"

Motherhips and Burton giggled.

"You two are such _girls_," House said. His leg was killing him. Like a moron he'd packed his eth supply in the apothecary bag. "Jesus God, get the apothecary bag. NOW!"

"How far to the nearest village?" House asked.

"I would estimate another two hours' drive," Johanna answered. "It's called Little Orange."

Burton scrambled down the apothecary bag. House dug around until he found his eth supply, then downed three pills. So what if it would make him a little more stoned? His leg was cramping, and it was all he could do to keep standing. The endorphin rush from the escape helped a lot, though.

"Get the other boxes down."

Motherhips and Burton pulled down the rest of the luggage.

After a quick inspection, House opened a large brown leather trunk. It was filled with rags, or what looked like rags.

"They're going to be looking for one woman and three men, one of them a soldier. Motherhips, you win the grand prize." House pulled out a yellow figured linen dress that had seen better days and threw it at him. Motherhips fumbled it, his jaw dropping in excitement.

"Oh, sir! Captain, I can hardly—"

"None of that _Captain_ shit. If anyone hears you call me that our ass is grass. Call me House."

"Why should I call you a domicile?"

"One, you're an idiot. Two, it's easy to remember. That goes for you, too, Burton. From now on, you address me as _House_."

"Yes, sir."

"_HOUSE!"_

"Yes, er, House, sir."

"No sir, you brainless ass-boil." House rummaged through the trunk, digging out a worn frock coat, breeches, and stockings. He tossed them to Burton. "There. You are now Master and Mistress Burton." He turned to Johanna. "Don't worry; I'm not going to ask you to wear men's clothes. That would make things a little…complicated. Here." He gathered up some clothes and thrust them at Johanna. Then he gave her a leer. "I'll help you change."

She felt them with distaste. "The material feels so…rough. Carelessly woven."

"Sorry I couldn't steal some of your gowns, but wearing satin in a tiny country village might look a bizarre, you think?"

Motherhips and Burton were giggling as they pulled off their clothes. "I get to be the wife!" Motherhips cried. "I get to be Mrs. Burton!"

"But if you're my wife, how do I watch?" Burton whined.

"You'll figure something out," House assured them, leading Johanna away to a more secluded area. "God, it's impossible to get good help these days."

The ground beneath them was covered with dead leaves, but there were some large tree roots that House could sit upon. Most important, the two footmen couldn't see them.

Johanna turned to him. "Now, House, tell me what you did to everyone at the engagement party." She put her hands on her hips.

House grinned and brought out the small glass bottle.

"Laudanum. Also called opium tincture. The Sumerians called opium poppies _hul gil_, the plant of joy. Bought it at the apothecary shop when we were in the village, couldn't have old Fendel knowing about it. Takes only a drop or two to cause hallucinations, sedation, or unconsciousness. So I put a few drops in every punchbowl. Not too much, I didn't want anyone to overdose. And I told the Queen Mother not to drink any of the punch." He sighed. "I didn't want her to go into respiratory distress without a doctor present." House placed the bottle back in his uniform pocket. "As we'd say in my world, they drank the Kool-Aid. Let's get you undressed."

Standing in the darkening woods, her brown eyes wide, he was again reminded of her resemblance to Wilson Maybe her face was softer, more feminine (although how could Wilson's face get any _more_ feminine?), but still. House was doubly glad he wasn't asking her to dress in man's clothes. Again, that awful pang of loss shot through him. He wouldn't be able to brag to Wilson about the kidnapping, or the laudanum, or anything.

Hiding his face, he searched the white gown for a fastening of some kind. Undressing the Princess would be a welcome diversion.

"There are hooks in the back," Johanna said. House's practiced fingers found a line of tiny hooks and eyes, barely visible, running down the top half of the dress. They were so small it took quite a while to get them unfastened, by which time his fingers were slightly sore. Johanna let it drop to the ground and turned to face him. She was wearing a stiff, v-shaped corset of heavy cotton which pushed her breasts up. It was double-laced with green ribbon in a zig-zag in the front. "You're lucky I have a lot of experience with these," House breathed, undoing the ribbons.

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

He dropped in on the ground. Johanna was also wearing a cotton chemise. "I can't take this off. It's the only one I have."

"But—"

"All women wear them. The only different with this one is that it's Indian cotton lawn. I'm not giving it up."

"Women," House said sarcastically, helping her untie her masses of petticoats. At one point, she stumbled. "Ow!" she cried, rubbing her leg.

"Excuse me, but _I'm_ the one in pain here," House reminded her. "Don't try to steal my thunder."

Then he looked closely at the last white cotton petticoat. "What's that under there?"

Johanna blushed a deep fiery red. "I wasn't going to tell you. I was going to throw it away when you weren't looking."

House yanked up her petticoat, and his eyes opened wide. There was a sharp dark metal dagger slipped into her garter.

"What the hell-?"

Johanna faced him, her face red, her pale neck blotchy. "I was going to commit suicide after the engagement party."

"What kind of insane thing is that to do? You would have done it wrong, you don't which arteries to cut, you would have just maimed yourself—" House was lost. How was he supposed to respond to the fact that—his mind refused to accept the notion that Johanna would have killed herself for love of him. That was simply and completely fucked up. She was even crazier than he thought.

"Insanity runs in the family. You know that as well as I do." Her voice turned cold. "The thought of being Gregory's wife was unbearable. To have him touch me, to live in his house, bear his children…I would lose myself. And you were going to be shipped back to your regiment, so what was there to live for?"

House stepped back her, his eyes bulging. "You were going to kill yourself. Give me that!" He lunged for the dagger and pulled it out of her garter. "Don't you—don't you EVER think of pulling some crazy shit like that again, do you hear me? He was choking. "NEVER!" It was too much for him to take in. "First I lose Wilson, and now you—" The pain in his leg was increasing by the second. He was not sure he could remain standing.

"Wilson! Why is it always _Wilson?_ Are you in love with him? Is that why you can't say you're in love with me?"

"Wilson was my best friend, he was—" House was choking. "There's nothing I can do about it." Abruptly he stood up, his face blank. "Get dressed," he said, not looking at her. "I don't need any help. I'll see you back at the carriage."

"House!"

He turned back. "I'm keeping this," he growled. "But only because we might need it later. Maybe I should have given _you_ the laudanum."

House limped back to the carriage, his mind whirling.


	51. Chapter 51

_**NOT SAFE FOR WORK!**_

Well past dark, the carriage rolled into Little Orange and pulled up in front of the largest inn, the Goat & Citrus Inn. The sign hanging above the door depicted a goat ridden by a lemon. It had several floors, a tavern, and a large stable.

House was riding alongside Burton in the driver's seat, while Motherhips and Johanna rode below. House had never seen a woman as elated over a new dress as Motherhips had been over his frayed yellow linen.

"God, Mom-Ass, you look as happy as a mortician at a mass murder," House had said.

Motherhips grinned and flipped his yellow skirt at House. "I _am_ happy, Captain!"

"HOUSE!"

"Oh, yes, House."

Johanna complained loudly about the rough weave of her shirt, skirt and jacket, but they suited her far better than her lavished ruffled gowns. Under a long wool cloak , she wore a blue jacket, cut much like a man's frock coat, open in the front, and she wore a lace "mob cap", which was much like the nightcap she wore at the palace. It covered her short hair. House had thought of stealing a wig but things were already complicated enough.

Porters came out and unloaded the luggage, although House held tight to the apothecary bag. The horses were unhitched and taken to the stables by an ostler, after the carriage had been driven to a courtyard off the side of the road.

The barroom was filled with people and bright with many candles. No one took any notice of the travelers. Johanna's eyes were wide.

"I've never seen anything like this," she said. "All of these people. The odor!"

"Don't worry, by the time we get to Rutgers your body odor will be as bad as anybody else's," House assured her. "I highly doubt that your shit doesn't stink." To make sure she didn't wander off, House took her arm and walked up to the bar. "May I speak to the innkeeper?" he asked the bartender.

"You're looking at him. Goat's the name, Goat's the place." The man was balding, probably somewhere in his forties, with only a few remaining teeth. He had severe rosacea, made worse by alcohol. But his face was friendly enough.

"We need rooms. One for my wife and I, one for our friends."

"Wife?" Johanna exclaimed, jerking away from House.

"New bride, skittish, you know. Tender twelve and never been caressed," House said to Goat in a low voice.

"Now there's a surprise. She's a fine figure of a woman. A little big for my taste." The barkeeper shrugged. "You'll all have to take one room. It's a large room, but it's what I've got."

"We cannot do that, my good man!" Johanna exclaimed.

"Oh, yes, we can!" said Burton behind her. "Right, honeybuns?"

"Anything you want, you big, bad man," simpered Motherhips. House wanted to barf. Instead he asked Goat the price of the room, then remembered he didn't have the faintest idea how much the gold coins were worth.

"Burton," he whispered, "you pay for the room. Here." House slipped him a gold coin. "And I want my change."

"Yes, Captain."

"House, moron!"

"House. Goat, here is your money. And I require his—my change." Burton laid the coin on the bar. From the look on the innkeeper's face, House guessed that it was worth a lot more than he had thought.

He knew it was a lot more when Goat placed a large pile of coins on the bar. Burton counted them expertly, then put them in his pocket.

"But—" Johanna said.

"Shut up," House muttered. Johanna glared at him but held her tongue.

A chambermaid showed them up the wooden stairs, to a large room with several bulky old beds that looked like their best days were long behind them. House would have liked to stay at the bar and have a drink, but he was too anxious to get through this first night without being noticed. The porters brought their cases to the room. It had a slanted floor and a cracked window. The window was too dirty to let in any light.

The way Johanna sat in the large grimy chair looked as if she was trying to levitate above it. Motherhips flung himself on the bed in the corner, and Burton dove after him. They proceeded to bounce on it.

"Burton, if you can stand to stop having fun, I want my change," House said.

"Oh, poo." Burton pouted, but stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a large handful of silver and copper coins.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure, _House_." Burton smiled gleefully.

House dumped the money into the apothecary bag, which he closed and put between the wall and the other bed. Then he spread out on it. The bed smelled like straw and horsehair, but he was so tired he did not care.

"This is _disgusting_!" Johanna burst out. "Those beds, the carpet, everything is filthy! How do they expect me to stay in a hovel?"

"Because they don't know you're Princess Johanna, sweetie," House snapped. "If you go downstairs and rant about the conditions up here, we'll be back at the palace by morning, and not by our own choice. Is that what you want?"

She sagged down, but her back did not touch the chair. "No. But they think I'm your wife, House. It's not proper."

House stared at her, and almost laughed. "Not proper? You have _got_ to be kidding me. For one thing, I've banged you twenty ways from Sunday, and for another, they have no idea who we are, _as I already said_, and I intend to keep it that way. You should just be happy we don't have to share a bed with _those_ two." He pointed a thumb at Mom-Ass and Burton. "Unless you want to. I'd be fine with that," he added, a faux innocent expression on his face. He hitched himself up on one elbow.

"House!" Joanna stood and shed her cloak. "I'm hungry."

"We'll eat tomorrow."

"But I haven't eaten anything all day. Fetch me some supper."

"No."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I said, fetch me some supper!"

"You forget, Johanna, you are no longer a princess and I am no longer a subject of yours."

"But…but…I'm on the _money_!"

"As long as we're on the road we're equals, so you'd better get used to it. Actually, if this culture works the way I think it does, I'm your superior."

"Never!" She sat down, hard, on the bed next to where he lounged. "No supper, dirt everywhere, commoners all around me…"

"It could be worse." House shifted and kissed her on the shoulder. "You could be engaged to the Duke."

Johanna visibly relaxed. "Yes, there is that. Better grubby than dead."

"Wow, you know exactly how to set a romantic mood."

########################################################

There was a bit of fussing when it was discovered that there was only one woman's nightshift. In order to spare them all nightmares, House let Mom-Ass have the nightshift, and Johanna slept in her chemise. He had to make do with his white shirt, which hung to just the tops of his thighs.

House blew out the candle by the door, and carefully felt his way back to their bed. The last thing he wanted was to end up with his faithful perverts.

He felt the edge of the bed. "Scoot over," he whispered, and heard the rustling as she did so. He carefully lifted his sore leg as he got into the bed. Johanna was lying with her back to him. She shuddered when House pulled the quilted bedspread over them.

"Ick," she said. Johanna was facing him; he could barely make out her silhouette in the dark. He felt the warmth of her body, her breath in little puffs on his cheek, her delicious smell. Tentatively, he reached his arm out around her waist, spreading his hand across her back. He pulled her closer, the bed creaking.

_Shit,_ House thought, _Motherhips and Burton are only about six feet away and I'm so horny I'll come if she even touches me._

Trying desperately not to let the bed creak, House moved even closer to Johanna, his legs tangling with hers. She buried her head in his neck, so that his face was in her hair. It was soft and thick, and he rubbed his face in it. His groin was heating up, but how could they have sex in this bed?

Johanna's arm reached over and stroked the top of his head, her fingers trailing down his face, sending little shivers of pleasure through his body. She cupped the side of his face with her hand, and leaned in for a long, hot, sensual kiss.

"I've missed this so much—" she tried to say with their mouths together.

"Shh! No sound!" House whispered. "We're not alone, you know." As if to emphasize his words, the bed gave another loud creak. How the hell was the other bed so silent? The damn footmen must be asleep. Which actually was not a bad thing, but Johanna and House couldn't risk waking them up.

They continued to kiss, slowly, languorously, tasting each other's mouths, gently rubbing their lips against each other's, she dragging her mouth softly over his beard. "Ooooooh…" House moaned as softly as he could manage, but cut himself off from making any sound. He ran his fingers through her hair, then moved his mouth down the side of her neck, feeling the rhythmic pulse. He pressed his lips to it and nuzzled her neck, and she made a soft hissing noise. It was obvious that she was also struggling to be quiet. But House felt her body press against his, and his cock, not restrained by clothing, was getting harder by the second. He rubbed it against her thigh. She responded by arching her back, and the bed creaked. They froze for a second.

But nobody had that kind of self-control, least of all House. He continued to rub his penis against her thigh, tugging her chemise up clumsily under the bedspread, moving as slowly as possible. Johanna moaned; it was almost soundless but he could hear it, and it shot through his body like fireworks. He was rock hard and aching to come, but the need to remain quiet meant he couldn't shove into her and pound away. The goddamn bed might even break. It squeaked again.

She had slipped one hand down to her crotch, and was gently fingering herself, breaking off to brush the back of her hand against the underside of his cock. House buried his face in a pillow, which he bit as hard as he could. It tasted vile, soiled linen and feathers, but it was either that or start yelping her name. Again she brushed the underside, then lightly pressed the sweet spot below the tip. He growled helplessly. "Oh, God," he whispered. "I can't stand this."

"Shhh." She continued the light brushing until he thought he would go insane with pleasure mixed with longing. His hand grabbed her thigh, squeezing it hard, so hard she squeaked with pain. Her hand moved and took his cock, stroking it until he had to push her hand away lest he come too soon.

"I want in," he murmured.

"I want you in me," she murmured back, and shifted.

The damn bed creaked again, this time a long high creak of ropes being pulled. Probably what the mattress was suspended on. House hoped it wouldn't break, but right now, he didn't exactly care.

Moving with excruciating slowness, Johanna pulled herself farther up the bed so that her crotch was aligned with House's member. She rolled over onto her back, which caused another loud creak. Just as slowly, House rolled on top of her, kissing her with hastening urgency. She opened her legs, reached down and guided him inside of her. The hot wetness was maddening, he wanted to move faster, but he had to slide in and out carefully. Her hips pushed up against his, and he heard a tiny whine escape her. She gripped his upper arms, her fingers digging into his muscles. He wished it was light enough to see her face.

Slow rolling waves of ecstasy rolled through him, causing him to tremble and jerk. The effort to be silent was almost too much; he wanted to scream: _fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,_ but he had to remain silent, freezing every time the bed creaked and groaned. It was maddening but incredible. Johanna had raised her hips away from the mattress so that the slipping and sliding stayed off of it, but that didn't mean the bed didn't squeak.

Oh, sweet Jesus, he couldn't stand it another moment, it was as if his cock had a mind of its own. He closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut as orgasm tore through him, spasming and rushing through his body. He forced himself to continue to thrust until he felt her come as well, infinitesimal sounds emerging from her mouth.

As he slowly lowered himself off of her, a distinctive voice could be heard across the room:

"_Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my!" _

From now on those two were sleeping in the stables.


	52. Chapter 52

"This carriage belonged to a little old lady from Pasadena, who only drove it to executions in Camden," House said to the carriage maker, who was examining the undercarriage. Burton stood nearby. They were at a large wooden building with a stable to the side. BRIGHTSMITH'S FINE CARRIAGES advertised the sign on the road.

Brightsmith, an extremely tall, muscular man with a thick black beard, straightened up. "You don't look like the sort of man who would own a town coach like this." He caught Burton staring at his rear end. Burton quickly looked away and studied a wooden pillar intently.

"It was left to me. That's why I want to sell it. It's too much carriage for a small family." House smiled.

"I know what you want, a nice landau, barely used—"

"No. I'm looking for a brougham, preferably pulled by two horses, not four. Modest, you know, for the wife and kiddies. And new. This town coach has a high trade-in value; I'm not going to take just any old crap you have up on blocks in the yard. By the way, you don't know anyone in the market for carriage horses? I need to sell two of them. Or do you have a glue factory?"

The man stepped back, stroking his beard. "I don't know what I'd do with a town coach like this one. Folks around here don't need anything this fancy."

"Somebody's gotta to be superficial enough want to flaunt their wealth around here." House shrugged. "_But,_ if you're not interested, I'll find another carriage maker."

"No, no, hang on, maybe we can work something out."

#################################################

Burton drove the new, smaller brougham carriage back to the inn, House riding inside. It was going to be a bit cramped with three of them inside, but as long as House didn't have to sit next to Motherhips he was okay with that.

Johanna and Motherhips were waiting for them in the upstairs room. Johanna looked pale in the morning light, and it was clear she had been crying.

"We've got ourselves a new method of transportation," House announced proudly. "Now let those clowns find us. Anyone for pig's lungs?"

Motherhips jumped up, delighted, smoothing the folds of his skirt. "I'm famished!" he exclaimed. He bowed to Johanna. "Your Highness?"

"I'm not hungry," said Johanna.

"Of course you are,"said House. "You were ordering me to dig up some food last night. We can grab something nasty and germ-ridden to eat, I'm starved. Burton's waiting downstairs."

Johanna paused. "I can't eat with commoners."

"Why? Afraid they'll be offended by your table manners?"

"I—I just can't, that's all." She raised her chin. "I am Her Royal Highness, Princess Johanna, and I do not eat with commoners."

"You're right, your Highness, it is positively uncivilized," Motherhips butted in. "My apologies for speaking out of turn, Captain—"

"House!"

"House, but her Highness needs to be served at a proper table in the right setting. The dining room of a country inn is hardly that. Do you wonder that her delicate sensibilities are deeply offended?"

House glared at her. "Let's get one thing clear. You are _not _her Royal Highness, Princess Johanna. As long as you're on this trip, you are _Mrs. House_. A plain and simple wife, unusually shy, doesn't like to talk to anyone. Motherhips, you address her as your Highness again and I'll use this cane to bash your head in. And don't think I can't."

"But, House, a man of your background cannot understand—"Motherhips threw up his hands. "It's not _done_."

"Oh, God," House muttered.

Tears sprang to Johanna's eyes. "But I've never eaten with my subjects! I've never worn these sort of clothes, or slept in an awful room, or been ordered about like a serving girl! I have no ladies in waiting, no servants, no hot water, everything is ugly and common and dirty!"

"Welcome to my world," said House. "I've been stranded in this Disneyland for over a week. I don't have a dishwasher, a gas stove, a Fender Stratocaster, paper plates, you name it, it's not here. Everything and everyone I know is _gone_. You don't see me whining about it."

"Yes I have," Johanna muttered.

"Okay, so you've seen me whining about it. Be grateful you're still in Disneyland. And don't ask me what Disneyland is. It's one of the few things I don't miss."

"Consider her position, uh, House." Motherhips noticed that House was gripping his cane harder and edged away. He tugged at the lace at his neckline. "You would not strike a lady, sir?"

"If there was one in the room, I would. Come on, Johanna, suck it up. The closest you've gotten to your precious subjects has been waving at them from the safety of your carriage. A lesson in how the other seven-eighths live will do you a lot of good. Now, _Mrs. House_, will you take my arm?" House lifted his arm.

"I'll do it, but I won't like it," Johanna said, sniffing back snot. "No clean clothes—"

"Don't forget the cap," House reminded her. With a glare, she tugged it onto her head, then took his arm.

The dining room was fairly empty. The serving maid, probably anticipating that her shift was going to be over soon, grudgingly served them coffee, boiled sausage, and thick crusted bread.

"Tin plates!" Johanna stared at her meal in disgust. "These are tin plates!"

"We could slide it off the plate directly onto the table if that would make you happy," House said. Their companions tore into the food and gulped coffee, signaling for more. Johanna gazed at them, aghast. But then she picked up her knife and fork and cut off a small slice of sausage. House felt an unreasonable sense of triumph as she ate it.


	53. Chapter 53

The roads in this country really were lousy. The brougham carriage squeaked and rocked, and House felt every bump they rode over. He sat next to Johanna, his arm around her shoulders. Motherhips sat opposite them, gazing out the carriage window.

"It's different being inside a carriage," Motherhips said.

"That so?" House muttered without interest.

"Oh, yes. I started as a stable boy, but then I was apprenticed as a page. I think I was too pretty to be a stable boy. Anyway, the head footman saw my potential. So soon I rode the back of the royal carriage. Only the best-looking footmen are appointed to that duty. It makes the royals look even better, to have good-looking servants. Do you know, I barely knew Burton before all of this? I'd seen him in the corridors and we'd, you know, exchanged glances, but we worked in different parts of the palace. Until you came along…House. I am ever so grateful!" Motherhips tilted his head and smiled.

"Glad to have brought you crazy kids together."

"It was meant to be." Motherhips smiled beatifically. "I only wish that I could ride alongside him. But it would be improper for a woman to sit up on the driver's seat."

"You're not a woman, Mom-Ass."

"Says you." Motherhips fixed them both with a look. "So, I do not understand all of this. As a soldier, why did you flee the palace? His Highness was going to give you a medal. And it seems to me that we're traveling toward Rutgers. Why?"

"I want to see the rebellion for myself," answered House.

"Oh. That." Motherhips grimaced. "As long as we're letting our hair down, I am entirely in sympathy with the rebels. Pardon me, your Highness, but your uncle has been most unfair to his subjects. That is not even counting the executions."

"Tell me about it, Motherhips. We military men are not always privy to the inside information. As a member of his Highness's hotline, you must know _everything_." House managed a friendly smile.

Motherhips wiggled with glee. It was probably nobody had asked his opinion…ever. "First of all, there are the taxes. The citizenry are taxed ruthlessly, and it only gets worse every year. Our imports are taxed so heavily that other countries have stopped using our port cities. And that's not to mention the poor farmers. As soon as he took power, the Prince Regent took over all of the farmers' lands." Motherhips raised his eyebrows. "I don't know about you, but I would be extremely piqued if that happened to me. At first his Highness let the farmers keep half of their proceeds from their crops and livestock, but earlier this year he cut it down to an eighth. That's when the rebellion started. How much are the people supposed to take? If you ask me, the Prince Regent has made some major mistakes. Between the executions and the taxes, how is anyone supposed to think he's a fair and faithful ruler?" He paused. "I planned to flee the palace if the rebels got that far."

"But if the rebels take over, then what happens? Are you prepared to set up a democracy?"

"Heavens, no! We'd put the rightful ruler on the throne." Motherhips pointed at Johanna. "Her."

House looked at Johanna, who stared at Motherhips. "Me?" she squeaked.

"Johanna, it can't be a surprise," House said. "You were drunk and bleating about it the first night we met."

"But I wasn't _serious!_ It's not because I'm a woman, but I wasn't raised to be Queen. Uncle Louis is not old; I never gave the matter any thought." Johanna stared at House with terrified eyes. "I don't want to be the Queen!"

"Well, you must have known that the Prince Regent intended to have you killed. Particularly if you bore a son." Motherhips said casually.

"And you _never told_ me?" Johanna gasped.

"It's not my place to tell you," the footman explained. "Do you think I wanted to get myself executed? I like my neck too much."

"House, did you know this?"

House squirmed. "I knew that he intended for you to stay married in the country to Duke Retard. I only guessed at what he might do if you had children."

Johanna gulped, turning pale. She turned to House. "Is that why you abducted me?"

"No. I didn't want you to marry Gregory. Saving your life was just a bonus." House caught sight of something coming toward the carriage from one side. He looked past Johanna out the carriage window.

A man in a black cloak wearing a cloth over the bottom of his face was drawing up alongside them.

He was carrying a flintlock pistol, aiming it at Burton.


	54. Chapter 54

_Thank you for the reviews! I hope you are continuing to enjoy the story._

_Summary: The travelers are waylaid by a highwayman._

Burton stopped the carriage, and scrambled down from the driver's seat.

"Stand and deliver!" said the highwayman.

"They really _say_ that?" House asked Johanna.

"Not now, House!" Johanna hissed. "Where's your sword?"

"Tied up on top of the carriage with everything else."

Outside, Burton took a step toward the robber. "What do you want?" he asked.

The highwayman was seated atop a large gray horse, with a tooled saddle and bridle. "I was informed that you are carrying a large amount of gold coin. Please hand it over or suffer the consequences. Tell the rest of your party to please exit the carriage."

Burton knocked gently on the carriage door and opened it. "There's a gentleman out there that wants your gold, sir," he whispered to House.

"He thinks it's your gold," House whispered back. "That innkeeper saw you pay for our room with gold and he's probably the one who told Zorro there."

"I TELL YOU NOW TO GET OUT OF THAT CARRIAGE!" The highwayman continued to point his pistol at Burton. It had a brass barrel that glinted in the sunlight.

Motherhips hastily got out of the brougham. House got down clumsily, grunting with pain. Johanna's skirt seemed to be caught in the seat, but she tugged it free and followed the others.

"I thought you people only robbed coaches at night," House remarked. "But with that mask you don't have to worry about sunburn."

The robber surveyed them from atop his horse. The mask on his face was of fine black crepe. His hat and boots looked expensive. Crime obviously paid well for this guy.

"That's a very fine cane, sir," he observed. "A silver handle."

"We cripples demand only the best."

The man dismounted gracefully, keeping the pistol trained on Burton. "Now, I will trouble you to give me the gold coin, as well as any other valuables you carry."

"We don't have any gold, and we don't have any valuables," House said. The thought crossed his mind that if he was killed, maybe he would wake up back in the real Princeton. But if he didn't, getting killed would just suck.

"Please, let us go," said Johanna. "He's right, we're not rich, we have only this carriage and our belongings."

House inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Johanna hadn't done something idiotic like pull rank on the highwayman.

"That's not true and you know it, woman," the man barked. He turned to House. "Your cane, sir."

House said, "I can't walk without this cane. You'll have to come get it."

From what House could see of his face, the robber assessed the situation. He was as tall as House, and big. Evidently he decided that House was no threat, and stepped toward him, his free hand reaching for the cane.

House quickly swung wide and hit the hand holding the pistol with the handle of his cane. The man cried out, the gun flying out of his hand. Like lightning, Johanna grabbed the pistol as it fell to the ground. Holding it with both hands, she pointed it at the robber.

"Lie down," she ordered.

He dropped to his knees. "Madam, I had no intent of—"

"BE QUIET!"

Uh-oh. House knew that tone, and knew that look in her eyes, the same look she gave House before she threw something at him. It was crazy-bitch time.

"Lie down," she repeated. "Flat on the ground, your face in the dirt, or I swear, I will shoot your head off." She aimed the gun directly at the robber's head. Her aim was better than his. "And take off that mask. With your right hand. Keep the other one where I can see it."

Staring at Johanna, the robber removed his mask, revealing a red beard and an alarmed expression. "My good woman—"

"I'm not your good woman. Now that we've all seen your face, lie down."

"Johanna—" House started to say.

"Shut up, House!" She did not turn her gaze from the man on the ground. He did as he was told, slowly lowering himself until he lay flat on the soil. "Burton, send the horse on his way. The rest of you get back in the carriage."

Burton led the horse to the road, then slapped it on the flank to send it running. Eyes wide, Motherhips climbed back into the carriage. Burton got back up on the driver's seat.

"Johanna," House said soothingly, "I think we're done here, don't you?"

"Please," said the man, his words muffled by the dirt.

Johanna let House take her right hand, still holding the pistol in her left, and guide her back toward the carriage. She kept the gun pointed at the highwayman's head, even after she had climbed back in.

"Move it!" House yelled. Burton spurred the horses forward.

###############################

House watched out the back window as the highwayman picked himself up, his front covered in brown soil. House wasn't sure if he was more amazed or frightened.

"And here I thought highwaymen were supposed to be romantic," House observed. "Another fantasy shot to hell."

"Oh, my sainted mother, I thought we were done for!" Motherhips exclaimed.

"Shut up," House said. "You can have your hysterics at our next stop."

Johanna again sat next to House, with the pistol in her lap. She was chalk white, and he could feel her shaking.

"Where did you learn to do that?" House asked.

"My—my uncle William. He taught me how to shoot. He used to take me turkey hunting." She gave the pistol, handle first, to House. "I don't want it. I could have killed him. I would have killed him."

"We can always use another weapon." He slid the safety catch on. "Did your uncle ever try to shoot anybody?"

"No!" Johanna's head jerked back. "What are you implying?"

"Did he ever threaten to shoot anybody? When he was raving?"

"I never heard him raving."

House stared at her. The carriage struck a large rock in the road, causing the carriage to sway violently. Johanna's brown eyes met his gaze, puzzled.

"Never? Did your family live with your uncle?"

"Of course we did. But I never heard him raving, or talking to the devil, or any of the things I've been told about. I was a young girl; they kept me away from him when he started to go mad. Uncle William was one of the kindest men I ever knew. I wish he had stayed King; I'd still have my parents, Uncle Louis wouldn't be the Prince Regent, and I wouldn't have to be the Queen." She rubbed her face.

"Yeah, monarchy sucks."

Motherhips brightened. "Did I hear sucks?"

"Shut up, Mom-Ass. What happened to your parents, Johanna? You never told me."

"Yes, I did. I left the country, and when I returned, they were gone. People disappear here all of the time. I cried a little, but then I got over it. I didn't know them very well."

"Do you think your Uncle Louis had anything to do with it?"

She shook her head. "My mother was his sister. He would never hurt his sister."

"He'd have his niece and her child killed, but not his sister?" House nodded. "Interesting code of ethics."

"Your Highness—" Motherhips interrupted.

"Johanna," House warned him. "Oh, crap, that would-be Robin Hood heard me say your name."

"Your Highness," Motherhips repeated.

"What, you penis-obsessed tranny?"

Motherhips ignored House. "Your Highness, maybe it isn't my place to say this, but we all knew what happened to your parents."

"Who's 'we'?" Johanna asked.

"The servants. You can fool your family, you can fool your friends, but you _can't_ fool your servants. Your uncle waited until you were away, and then he had them assassinated. Poison. First your mother, then your father. He was careful to do it several days apart, so he could claim it was the contagious black lurgi or some such folderol. I simply could not think the Queen Mother believed him—usually she can see straight through _anybody._ He used the disease excuse to have them both buried as soon as possible, with no royal funeral, and bribed the head steward, the land steward and the butler to keep it all secret. So messy, if you ask me."

"What poison did he use?"

"I don't know. I was only a stable boy at the time."

"Do you remember anything about its effects?"

"I'm sorry, but no."

"Damn." House fell silent. If this were the 21st century, he could have the bodies exhumed, the poison found, and the Prince Regent arrested. It was all so simple on "NCIS".

He realized with a start that there was one thing he hadn't missed: his soap operas. Maybe it was because he was virtually living in one.


	55. Chapter 55

_Summary: What was he doing here, sitting in a carriage with a woman who kept reminding him of Wilson and a man wearing a dress? This puzzle had far too many pieces._

The one thing House hadn't considered for this road trip were provisions. Back in New Jersey, he never worried about eating. There was always Wilson's food, or a vending machine, or a bar. But now there were only miles of forest and bad roads. His stomach growled and he was parched. And despite several eth tables, House's leg protested all of this physical activity.

"What do you people do to eat on these things?" he asked Johanna. Since the revelation about her parents, she had been quiet, mostly looking out the window at the passing countryside and the setting sun.

"We pack food and wine," Johanna replied. "House, I'm grateful that you abducted me, but I do wish you had given the matter more thought."

"Oh, Christ, don't _you_ give me a hard time." What was he doing here, sitting in a closed carriage with a woman who kept reminding him of Wilson and a man wearing a dress? This puzzle had far too many pieces; he could discern no grand design at all. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had somehow switched bodies with some other guy. At least the other guy would have cable.

"I have to solve the puzzle," he said to himself.

"What puzzle?" Johanna asked without interest.

"The puzzle of why I'm here, why I met you, why I don't simply wake up in my own bed and all of this is some sort of weird fever dream."

"It's Destiny," announced Motherhips.

"Screw that," said House.

"No, it's Destiny! Destiny Farm! This was the first stable I apprenticed at. I learned how to muck out a stall here." His eyes grew misty. "I love the smell of horse manure in the morning. It smells like—like horse manure."

"Where there's a farm, there's something edible," said House.

"We could call on the owners. They're lovely people."

"No, we can't risk anyone knowing who we are. How well do you know the layout?"

"Like the front of my hand. We could drive the carriage behind the large barn, it's the one without any cows. The first chores the laborers have in the morning are milk the cows and gather the eggs. They keep the cows and chickens are in the smaller barn. In the large barn, we can also get feed for the horses. Stop so I can get up beside Burton and direct him."

########################################################

Motherhips knew the lay of the land, all right. The carriage was hidden in a large stand of trees near the barn. He and Burton fed and watered the horses, and House could tell that Motherhips had once been a stable boy by the way he moved easily around the horses, softly patting their necks.

House had extracted the apothecary bag from the carriage, and carried it under his left arm. No way was this going to be out of his sight.

However, when Motherhips drew another bucket of water from the well, House put the bag on the ground. He joined the other two men, splashing their faces and gulping the water down. Johanna hung back.

House looked at her, his face dripping. "You can't go all day without water. Forget getting it handed to you in a crystal goblet."

"I should like it if you poured out that water and drew up another bucket."

"A) You need to learn to say please, and B) no." He held the side of the bucket as it hung from the rope, and leaned so that a small amount of water splashed back down into the well.

"Don't!" Johanna cried involuntarily. "Um—I insist you draw up a bucket of fresh water for me. Your faces and hands have been in it."

House tipped the bucket again. "You want any, speak now or forever hold your peace. Which shouldn't be hard with your teeth stuck to your lips from dehydration."

She glared at him, and stiffly marched to the bucket he held. She rubbed her hands in it, then completely lost control, plunging her head into the bucket as if she were bobbing for apples. She came up for air then went down again. When she came up again, she gasped with relief. Then she caught House's eye and her wet face went stony again, which caused him to snort.

"I'm glad you find my mortification so highly amusing," she said_. _

_Jesus, if only she would stop sounding like Wilson! _His laughter died in his throat.

"Come on, let's bed down for the night," he snapped. "Lead the way, Mom-Ass."

"But I'm hungry," said Burton.

"We can forage when the sun comes up," Motherhips assured him. "Right now all there is to eat is the grain we're feeding the horses."

"In the future that will be considered organic _and_ high-fiber," House said.

################################################################

The calico barn cat ran when they entered the barn. It was huge, and reeked of horse shit. Which was natural, since it housed at least a dozen horses in large stalls. House debated the wisdom of sleeping in the stalls, but the risk of being stepped on by a horse was too great for his liking.

"Where there are horses, there's hay," he said to Motherhips. "Where's the hayloft?"

"This way." Motherhips lifted his skirt to avoid getting it soiled, as did Johanna. Unlike the inn, she was perfectly comfortable being in a stable.

The hayloft was enormous, spreading the length of the barn and approximately ten feet about their heads. Two fixed wooden ladders led up to it. Nearby was a temporary-looking stall. House guessed it was where mares were taken to foal.

"Me and Johanna are going to sleep up there," House gestured with his cane. "You two can sleep in the stall." He fished in his pocket for an eth tablet, and handed it to Motherhips. "Sweet dreams."

"But House, how are you going to get up there?" Johanna looked at the hayloft, and at his cane.

"By screaming like a little girl," he responded, and dug out two more eth tablets.

"You take an awful lot of those," she observed.

"It's either that or feeling like somebody's holding a welding torch to my leg. You go first. I'll hand you up my cane and the bag."

"If anyone had told me I would be drinking out of buckets and climbing into haylofts—" her tone was anything but pleased. Nevertheless, she scaled the ladder nervously, refusing to look down until she reached the top. Once she slid into the hay, House held up his cane for her to grab by the handle. Then, ignoring how much his leg hurt, he stepped back.

"Catch!" he yelled, and threw the apothecary bag up toward the hayloft. It failed to reach the mark by about a foot, and he almost fell catching it. He stumbled. "Crap."

"I can throw it, sir," said Burton.

House's head snapped around and he assessed Burton. Burton was almost as tall as he was, and very slender. But on the other hand, he had two legs he could stand on properly.

"Okay," House said, handing off the bag to Burton. "Try to get it into the basket and don't hit the rim."

"What basket?"

"Forget it."

Burton backed up, calculating the distance. Then he took a step forward and hurled the bag easily up into the hayloft, barely missing Johanna.

"Hey!" Johanna squealed.

"Well done," House said. Bracing himself, he climbed up the ladder, wincing and trying to keep his weight on his left leg. His right leg buckled and he almost fell off the ladder, but he was determined to get to the top. Johanna helped him drag himself over the edge. To his embarrassment, he was panting. He couldn't help a moan of pain as he crawled farther into the hay.

"Crap on a cracker, that hurt. At least I have until tomorrow to figure out how to get down."

It was clear that Johanna had no idea what to do in a hayloft. It was sort of a shame, but he was in far too much pain to teach her. She sat in the hay, looking around as if she expected a bed to magically appear.

"You have to make the bed with the hay, Johanna." House demonstrated by piling hay next to her.

"No blanket?"

"Not unless you want to climb down and get one of the horse blankets. But you'll have to take it off the horse. I'm not moving from here until I absolutely have to."

"Damn," she said, but joined him in gathering the hay. Once they had a respectably large amount, House lay down on it, and Johanna settled next to him. She nuzzled his neck, but he moved his head.

"I'm sorry, but I am really in too much pain." He meant it.

"You poor thing." She reached over with her left hand and gently stroked his thigh. Automatically House flinched away, but then he let his body relax and slid his leg back down. Her touch was extremely light and comforting, even though it did little to ease the pain. He watched her silently, and again that wave of sadness washed over him. Nobody had touched him like this since the infarction. He had to make sure the hookers he hired didn't have a problem with his scarred leg. But that didn't mean he let them touch it. Not that they ever seemed to want to.

"I'm nobody's object of pity," he said, that awful lump coming up in his throat again.

"Sympathy is not the same thing as pity," she said. "How can I pity someone who can do the things you've done? You're an amazing man, House. Except for when you're a jackass."

"You can stop now."

"That's precisely what I mean." She moved her hand to his face, but again he turned his head. "Have it your way, then."

"You're left-handed," he remarked to the dusty hay-scented air. "God."

"Swine," she said quietly, and stretched her arm across him, her head on his shoulder. Tears slid down his face, but he kept his breathing normal so that Johanna would go to sleep.


	56. Chapter 56

**WARNING: NOT SAFE FOR WORK! NC-17 SLASH!**

Summary: Motherhips and Burton give Johanna an anatomy lesson in a barn.

"House." It was a whisper. "_House_."

"Hmmm?" He opened his bleary, tear-swollen eyes.

"Down there. _Shh_."

House blinked a few times, and pulled a piece of hay off his cheek. Both he and Johanna had rolled onto their stomachs, and his arm was over her. She was staring down.

At two naked men in the temporary stall below.

Motherhips and Burton.

"What are they doing?" she whispered. "Are they—are they kissing each other?"

"Either that or they're taking turns giving each other artificial respiration."

Motherhips and Burton were indeed making out furiously. One of them had the good sense to spread a house blanket on the hay-covered dirt floor. From what House could see in the semi-darkness, Burton was grabbing Mom-Ass's—well—ass.

"Men kiss each other?"

"It's been known to happen." House was glad the darkness concealed his ferocious blush. "I thought you knew all about battlefield alliances."

"Yes, but—kissing?"

"You think men just hump like dogs with each other? I mean, they do, but there are many variations on a theme. If you watched porn, you'd know."

Johanna stared as the two men's bodies intertwined, their hands exploring each other, each of them gasping and moaning.

"You are so naughty," Motherhips said with a sigh.

"Not as naughty as my little cock-a-doodle-doo," Burton declared.

"Now that's just _wrong_," House whispered. However, he did feel a flicker of desire in his loins, and his arm tightened around Johanna.

Both men were well-built, thanks to having jobs that required a great deal of manual labor. Burton was taller than Motherhips, while Motherhips was more solid, with the beginning of a paunch. Said paunch was being fondly caressed by Burton, while Motherhips lay on his back.

Both Johanna and House pulled back lest they be seen. House had a brief moment of satisfaction in knowing that he was far better hung than Motherhips or Burton. Couldn't have the Princess thinking she missed out.

Motherhips was solidly erect, stroking himself languorously as he looked up at Burton. They could only see the back of Burton's head, but the familiar chorus of "oh, my, oh my, oh my, _oh my_" rang out.

"Why is Burton watching him?" Johanna asked.

"Burton likes to watch."

"Oh, yes, yes, goodness, yes!" Motherhips cried out, his body rigid, his head rolling backward. With a loud gasp he came, splashing his belly with semen.

Johanna moved closer to House.

Burton wasted no time in rubbing Motherhips's semen on his hands, and helping his partner get up onto his hands and knees on the horse blanket. Motherhips looked almost comical, his butt raised, his head down, legs spread wide. His back was wide and thick. Burton slowly slid in two long fingers into Motherhips's ass.

"Ow!" Motherhips squealed.

"You love it, my darling, you want my horn inside of you as much as I do."

"Yes," came the barely audible whisper.

"Now what are they doing?"

"Burton is going to sodomize Motherhips."

"Oh, God!" Johanna made a disgusted noise in her throat. "With his fingers? Won't it hurt? Why would a man _do_ that? I cannot comprehend it."

"You really don't know anything about battlefield alliances, do you?" House looked at her, amused at her disgust. "You won't get a better education than this. Technically speaking, Burton is loosening the muscles of the exterior sphincter. We all have two sets of muscles in the anus, the exterior and interior sphincter, and it's only the first one we can control voluntarily. The second, I guess you could say, has to be trained. These guys have been doing it for a long time. Maybe not to each other, but to somebody."

They watched as Burton moved his fingers in and out, Motherhips making tiny squealing noises of pleasure. Then Burton shifted, pulling out his hand, and slowly started pushing his hard cock into Motherhips.

Johanna gasped. "That must hurt so much!" she whispered.

"It does, until you get used to it," House replied.

She stared at him. "_You've_ done it?"

He returned her stare. "I've done everything. Except sheep. A guy has to draw the line somewhere."

To his surprise, she gave him a smile. "Why am I not surprised? Do you enjoy it?"

"Not particularly. Not like those two. Men who take pleasure in buggery generally divide into tops and bottoms. Which Motherhips and Burton are very nicely illustrating."

"Hush."

Burton lay across the other man's back, thrusting into him, small thrusts, pulling completely out and then pushing in again. He turned Motherhips's head so they could kiss, although it was awkward, to say the least. Then Burton let go of his partner's head so that he could thrust into him harder and faster, without pulling out. He groaned with pleasure. Motherhips's body shook with each push.

Unconsciously, both House and Johanna were breathing in the same rhythm as Burton's thrusts. House's arm was gripping her, their bodies pushed together as they watched the two men fuck.

"Oh, my, oh my," said Johanna without thinking. She clapped her hand over her mouth as both she and House starting giggling.

"Oh, my, yourself," House managed to say. "Shh!"

"I like to watch," she said before dissolving into giggles.

"Oh, God, oh my, oh God!" Burton yelled, climaxing violently. He almost pushed his partner into the wall with the force of his thrusts. Motherhips gasped and moaned, pushing his body backwards against Burton, until the latter was finished. Then they were as still as statues.

House turned his head toward Johanna's, and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth as far as he could. She melted against him, both of them violently aroused by what they had witnessed.

But then they heard voices.

"To think, if it hadn't been for the Captain, we would have never met," said Burton. "I beg your pardon, House."

"What a strange name to pick," Motherhips mused. "He might as well call himself Outbuilding. Still, I am most grateful to him."

They were stretched out facing each other on the horse blanket, legs wrapped around each other's. Motherhips was stroking Burton's face. "I do love you. I knew it when we were standing by the piano watching him bang out that bizarre music. If you can call it music."

"I love you, too. Before I met you, I only liked to watch. Funny. You and me, House and the Princess, all of us in love."

House gave Johanna a furtive glance. She was listening intently.

"I don't know what she sees in him," said Motherhips. "He is a very well set-up man, except for that leg, but so odd. He frightens me."

"He doesn't frighten her Highness. If anything, he's frightened of _her_. Don't you think so?"

"Now that you mention it, yes, I've noticed that. I wonder why. Well, I'm a bit frightened of her myself. When she was holding that pistol…" he let the thought trail away. "But there's something more to it than that. I wonder what it is."

"Let's not talk about it any longer. I'm absolutely spent." Burton kissed Motherhips lightly on the lips.

Johanna shifted away from House.

"Now that the show's over, I'm going back to sleep." House rolled over with his back to her. There was over a foot between them as they lay there in the dark.


	57. Chapter 57

_Summary: House reacts to what happened the night before. And so does the princess. Do NOT piss her off!_

The rooster's crow woke them all before dawn. Motherhips and Burton staged a raid on the smaller barn, where they procured eggs and a bucket of milk. House tossed the apothecary bag down to Johanna, handed her his cane, and carefully climbed down the ladder from the hayloft, hooking his arm over the rung above him at each step down. His whole body was sore, his leg was aching, and he itched from the hay in his clothes. In short, he was in a foul mood. The soft clucks and caws of chickens and the stomping of hooves from the stables were loud in the early morning stillness.

"What are we supposed to do with raw eggs?" he said, glaring at the stolen goods in the basket Burton held. Motherhips set the sloshing bucket of milk down on the ground.

"If you are asking my opinion," said Burton, "the farm workers will be outside at any moment, so it would be best if we made our escape." He thrust the basket of eggs at Johanna. "Be mindful, your Highness—er, Mrs. House—not to let them break."

Hearing Johanna called "Mrs. House" made House flinch inside.

"Get the nags and filch a few bags of feed," House growled. He unbuttoned his frock coat and shook it out, but that didn't help with the seeds and sprouts inside his clothes. Even three eth tablets had not made that much of a difference.

"My clothes are full of straw," Johanna remarked.

House stared at the barn. God, he was sick of her. How had he gotten himself into this? Oh, yeah, by playing the hero. Like a damn adolescent boy.

"Then take them off."

She idled around to the front of him. "Is that an invitation?" She had put the basket of eggs next to the bucket of milk.

"No!" House startled himself with the violence of his reaction. "Are you out of your mind? I've slept in a goddamn HAYLOFT! My leg is killing me! And it's because of you! Jesus, Johanna, what was I thinking?" He lowered his voice. "I should have let you marry Gregory and then kill yourself."

"_House_!" The shock on her face was gratifying. "Why—"

He moved until his face was an inch from hers. "Now I have a target on my back, I'll get executed for shanghaiing you and all because you kept sexually harassing me!" he shouted. "And YES, you look like Wilson, you talk like Wilson, you're left-handed like Wilson, you're the same height as Wilson, the only thing I _don't_ know is if Wilson screws like _you_!"

"You dope-addicted MAGGOT!"

Johanna jerked House's cane out of his hand and cracked his crippled thigh with it.

House's world exploded with pain. The sky turned black as whistling agony shot through his leg and up into his entire body. Cursing, he dropped onto the ground, grabbing his leg. Johanna threw the cane down beside him.

"You and your precious Wilson can go to blazes! Wilson looks like me, Wilson talks like me, and I'm certain he screws like Motherhips!"

"Fucking bitch," he groaned, his leg on fire.

"Don't worry, I'm not _your _fucking bitch any more."

The carriage rattled up to them, Burton up on the box, Motherhips inside. They both stared at the scene before them. House tried to get up, but couldn't.

"Leave him where he is!" Johanna ordered when Burton started to get down.

"I am sorry, but I simply cannot," Burton said. "We can't go back to the palace, or the Prince Regent will have our heads." He slid down from the box, and helped House up. House was gasping with pain. Motherhips quickly got out of the carriage and picked up his cane, which he handed to House.

"I must agree with my partner, your Highness," he said. He and Burton exchanged looks. "It is an impossible situation, and I refuse to let us be separated." He took Burton's arm. House was leaning on Burton, still gasping, fixing Johanna with a look of murderous rage. "Please, your Highness, consider the situation. I ask you to get back into the carriage."

Johanna stood there. Her mouth opened and shut. "Then I shall walk back," she announced."

"It's three days by carriage," House gasped.

"Someone will come along and find me," she said haughtily. "And I will inform that they was abducted, and that I am offering a reward for my safe return. What I do is no longer your business, House."

She lifted the bucket and took several large gulps of milk. Then she cracked a raw egg into her mouth. "Ecch," she said, swallowing it and making a face.

"Goodbye, House. Goodbye, gentleman."

With that, she stalked off to the road and out of their sight.

Motherhips stared. "House, what are we going to do?"

"Let the sadistic harridan _try _walking back. I only saw one carriage go past us in all this time." Still wincing, House hauled himself up into the carriage, refusing Burton's help. Sitting down heavily, he fished in his pocket and took more four eth tablets.

"That is because we are traveling back roads," said Burton.

"Get up in the driver's seat," House growled.

Motherhips climbed back into the carriage. It was clear he was baffled by what had just happened. Neither of them had seen his exchange with Johanna.

"Here." House proffered two eth tablets. "After a few minutes you won't even remember her name."

"Thank you, sir!" Motherhips grabbed the tablets and swallowed them. "Don't you think you should run after her?"

"I can't _run_, you porous excuse for a sentient being. She deserves whatever happens to her." House deliberately blocked out of his mind what could happen to her, alone on the roads. He looked down at the flintlock pistol, wishing she had taken it with her. Then he thumped the top of the carriage and they drove off, in the direction of Rutgers.


	58. Chapter 58

House stared out the carriage window, refusing to look at Motherhips sitting across from him. House was singing softly.

_I got a woman,  
Mean as she can be  
I got a woman,  
Mean as she can be  
Sometimes I think  
She's almost mean as me_

A black cat up and died of fright  
'Cause she crossed his path last night  
Oh, I got a woman  
Mean as she can be  
Sometimes I think  
She's almost mean as me 

Written by Claude Demetrius, recorded around 1958 by Elvis Presley, later Roy Orbison and many others.

"You sing the strangest kind of songs," Motherhips remarked. "And you don't 'got a woman'. She's out on the roads by herself." He paused. "What sort of song is that? It should be 'I have a woman.'"

"Shut up, Mom-Ass," House muttered, not turning his head. His singing dropped to a low growl.

_The strangest gal I ever had  
Never happy 'less she's mad  
Oh, I got a woman  
Mean as she can be  
Sometimes I think  
She's almost mean as me _

The carriage rattled along, and House refused to look at Motherhips. Fucking Johanna. It was her own fault. Hitting his bad leg was completely over the line. House needed to think. If only he had his piano.

Traveling With Johanna

She was a whining, spoiled brat who complained about everything.

She disapproved of House's eth use.

Carrying Johanna along was incredibly dangerous; not only if they got caught, but the woman was batshit insane.

She was a moron.

He was sick of those cow eyes looking at him, waiting for him to drop on one knee and declare his undying love, like there _was _such a thing. House didn't do love.

Johanna kept reminding him of Wilson, which sucked.

She pretended not to notice the obvious, which was that House was a freak.

Traveling Without Johanna

Maybe she complained, but she had done everything she was asked to do, including sleeping in a hayloft.

She wasn't actually a moron, Johanna was actually intelligent, but she hadn't been taught to display her intelligence. She was eager to learn.

Johanna was batshit insane, but she was also bad-ass. In his time she could have been one mean biker chick.

She was an amazing lay.

In her own way, she felt like a freak and as self-conscious about it as House was about his leg.

He hated admitting it, but being stared at with those brown cow eyes wasn't such an awful thing.

Bottom line: he missed her.

"Crap," House muttered. He thumped on the top of the carriage for it to stop.

"Burton, turn this rattletrap around and let's go get the Princess," he snarled.

"Very good, sir!"

#####################################################

They had now been driving for almost three hours, and no sign of Johanna. House peered anxiously down at the dusty, dirty roadbed and saw the imprints of a woman's slippers. So he knew they were going in the right direction. But where was she? Had she, indeed, met another carriage? Had she encountered the highwayman? House had a cold shiver at the thought. Johanna didn't have a pistol, or a dagger…

"Can't we go any faster?" he yelled up at Burton. There was no response. House sagged back into his seat and folded his arms. After a few minutes he couldn't stand it, and again swung open the carriage door and looked at the slipper prints in the road, then slammed it shut. Playing with a door in a moving carriage was probably idiotic, but he needed to see those footprints.

Then House saw her.

Johanna was limping slightly on a sore left foot, but otherwise walking with determination. Her skirt was covered with road dust. His heart gave a large bang in his chest.

She turned at the sound of the brougham. But when she saw who it was, she turned away and continued walking.

House thumped the ceiling of the carriage to stop. When Burton pulled the horses to a full stop, House grabbed his cane and clumsily made his way down the step from the carriage and to the ground. His leg was still throbbing from the thwack she had given him with his own cane.

"Johanna!" House yelled. She kept walking.

"Johanna, for God's sake, slow down. It's your fault I can hardly walk!" House limped as fast as he could manage, but his leg felt like it would buckle under him.

Johanna's shoulders went up and down. She pivoted, facing him. Her eyes were red from crying, but her expression was stony. "What, might I inquire, are you doing here?"

"Sightseeing. I can't get enough of this summer foliage." He looked down at her feet. The silk slippers she had been wearing since the engagement party were split and cracked. The left one was missing the heel. "You decided to go hiking and experience the joys of dehydration?"

"No, I decided that I'd had enough of being with a man with the emotions of a rabid fox hound. I had hoped you didn't mean most of what you've said. But when you want to hurt someone, you tear their heart out, House. The things you said to me this morning cannot be forgiven."

House couldn't look at her. "Get back in the carriage. Your shoes weren't made for anything more than a stroll from the garden to the palace. You're limping. I—I'll leave you alone." He stared at the ground.

"Say please."

"Please get back in the carriage, Johanna."

"Very well. I shall ride with you as far as Rutgers. There we shall part, House. Do not worry, I shall not tell anyone who abducted me." She sighed. "I believe I can tolerate your company for a few more days."

Turning on her unbroken heel, she walked to the carriage and got in. House followed, slowly.


	59. Chapter 59

**NOT SAFE FOR WORK! UNLESS YOU WORK FROM HOME!**

As if to make certain they did not have to talk to one another, Johanna slid in next to Motherhips, who was directly facing House. Johanna stared out the window at the passing landscape.

"We're so delighted you returned, your Highness," said Motherhips. "Why, who knows what perils you might have encountered! I feel faint merely thinking of it."

House had no idea what to say, so he kept silent.

"Thank you, Motherhips. At least one of you knows how to be a gentleman. Even if you are wearing a dress."

"Your poor slippers! They are completely wrecked. Take my shoes."

Johanna glanced down. "My feet are larger than yours. But I thank you for the offer all the same."

House wasn't about to offer his shoes. Who was the cripple here, anyway? He glowered at her. But aside from a quick glance, she did not look at him. Part of him felt like dogshit for what he had said to her, which only made him angrier. It was _the truth_, for fuck's sake, and if she was okay with hearing her parents had been murdered, why did her coping motor blow out when it came to _him_?

The brougham bounced along the road, the clopping of the horses' hooves beating a soothing rhythm, broken only occasionally by a loud grunting groan when one of the horses took a dump as they trotted along. House remembered a summer when he was a child. His parents had sent him to relatives in Vermont who had a farm. They had a two-wheeled buggy pulled by a single horse. When House drove in it with the farmhand, the horse's anus would open in a spiral movement and the dung would drop out. House never failed to find it hilarious. It was one of the only pleasant memories he had of his childhood.

"Oh, look, there's Newark Lake," said Motherhips, pointing to the left.

House turned his head and looked out at a vast, sparkling blue lake, surrounded by pine, oak, and spruce trees, all in various stages of green, heavy with midsummer moisture. Slate rock edged the opposite side of the lake. He thumped the top of the carriage, and Burton brought the carriage to a stop.

"Are there any costrels in the boot, Burton?" House asked, leaning out.

"I don't know. I'll have to look, House." Burton hopped down and unhitched the horses so they could graze. Then he opened the boot of the carriage, and felt around.

"There's three of them!" Burton's voice was filled with excitement. "And they have barely been used!" He produced three dark leather bottles on long straps. Each probably held at least two liters of water when filled.

"Great." House steadied himself and took one of the costrels with his left hand. "Motherhips, Burton, let's fill these up and get ourselves a drink as well. Johanna, you're welcome to join us."

The three men walked, and then slid, towards the lake, through muddy ground and clusters of dogwood and spicebush. When House reached the edge, he leaned his cane on the ground, then bent and splashed the freezing water over his head. It felt so amazingly good he could hardly put it into words. The lake bottom was…well…squishy, but the water was clear and cold. House drank some from his cupped hands, marveling at the taste, the absolute essence of fresh water.

He was diverted by a loud splash. "Oh, you naughty man!" Motherhips cried, sitting up in the water, soaking wet. Burton, laughing, splashed at him.

"You pushed me!"

"About time you had a bath!"

"You think?" Motherhips grabbed Burton's legs and pulled him over into the lake. Burton landed flat on the water, sending up a small cascade. House couldn't help smiling. He loved the water. When he'd been with Stacy, they had gone snorkeling. He still remembered the beautiful feeling of being at one with the world, the closest he would ever come to believing in God. Crashing through the surface, staring at the blue Caribbean sky…

It was the last time he had been able to go into salt water.

The hell with it. House pulled off his frock coat and tossed it next to his cane, then waded in, shoes and all. He couldn't lean down and take them off anyway, not here where there was nothing to balance against.

Cattails were at the very edge, and when he looked down, he saw minnows scurrying away. Except for Burton and Motherhips splashing and playing, it was quiet. Only birds and the occasional burp of a bullfrog. The water was so, so cold.

"Mind over matter," House told himself. "The water is warm and comfortable. The water is warm and comfortable." He waded in deeper. "The water is—oh, fuck—warm and comfortable. Jesus Christ in a laundry hamper! The water is warm and comfortable." He was chest-height in the water, which buoyed him somewhat. To have the weight removed from his leg was worth freezing to death. He glanced back at the shore.

Johanna was at the edge, behind a Michigan holly bush, busily undressing herself. House stared, but was unable to see much due to the density of the foliage. When it seemed she was entirely naked, she waded in about twenty feet away from House.

"Johanna!" House called.

She dove in and out, moving like a large fish. At one point she flicked her hair out of her eyes and looked over at House.

"How can you have all of your clothes on?" she demanded. "You'll be in wet clothes all day. So will those other two."

"It's warm enough. They'll dry on me."

"You'll catch a chill." She swam cautiously toward him, then dove suddenly downward. When she surfaced, her eyes were wide.

"You have your shoes on!"

"Couldn't take them off. No chairs."

"Let me. Wade in a bit, I don't want to drown."

House waded back to the edge of the lake, then looked to see if Burton and Motherhips were watching them. They were too busy throwing water plants at each other.

Johanna's upper body was out, water gleaming in rivulets down her shoulders and chest, dripping from her wet brown hair. House hadn't noticed that it had grown an inch or two since they had met. Staring at her broad shoulders and small breasts, he grew aroused, but the icy water helped keep it at bay.

"Your shoes, House, you simply don't think," she muttered, sliding off first one, then the other, underwater. She handed them up to him, and he tossed them ashore.

"How about the rest of my garb?" House asked, adding quickly, "I'm not suggesting anything. It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before."

She gave him a suspicious look. "Very well, but I am only undressing you because you requested it, not because I want to." House undid his breeches, and Johanna ducked under again, pulling them down his legs and off. They floated off of him, as did his stockings. House threw each article after the shoes. Now he was naked from the waist down.

"I can do the rest myself," House said, pulling at his soaked cravat. It took several minutes due to the heaviness of the wet, clinging fabric, but he managed to divest himself of his cravat, shirt, and waistcoat. The last was probably ruined by being soaked in water, but House didn't care.

He slid into the icy lake, gasping at the fiery touch. His feet were definitely numb. But it was a delicious numbing, the water caressing every part of him, the feeling of weightlessness. House wasn't sure he should try to swim, but he waded until only his head stuck out of the water. He smiled up at the sun, feeling ridiculously happy. It was like rediscovering his music, only there was no onslaught of memories to make him miserable.

"House!" Johanna was beaming, treading water. "You are grinning like a fool."

"Why not?" House responded. "Can't a guy smile without being judged?" He let himself float on his back.

Johanna disappeared under the surface, appearing a few seconds later beside him. "You look like a different person." Again she flipped her hair out of her eyes.

"I feel good, is that a sin? Yeah, in your culture, it probably is."

House looked over at where Motherhips and Burton had been. They weren't there, so House guessed they had decided to play hide the sausage in the bushes. He couldn't float any more, so he left himself drift down, but his feet didn't touch the lake bed.

"Shit," he muttered, trying to swim. Sure enough, when he kicked, pain shot through his leg. Nevertheless he tried again, and again it hurt. He swore.

"House, let me help you." Johanna paddled over to him and hooked her arm around his neck. With practiced ease she pulled him into the shallower water, until he could put his feet under himself.

"I can't even _swim_ anymore," he said, shaking free. "Why does the water have to feel so fucking good when I can't swim?" House bent his head.

Johanna put her hand under his chin, and kissed him lightly. "The water is always there, House, and you _can_ learn to swim. Maybe not the way you used to, but you can still swim."

He gazed at her for a long moment, then took her in his cold arms and hugged her to him. Her body was also chilly from the water, but she twined her long legs around him and put her wet head against his shoulder. She continued to paddle lightly with her arms. They remained that way for several minutes.

He let out a ragged sigh. "You're not Wilson, Johanna." He felt her tense.

"I can't ever be Wilson, can I?" Her head remained against his shoulder.

"No. But you're you—" House bent his head and kissed her lightly, caressingly, on the mouth. She offered no resistance, letting him kiss her, her eyes closed, a single tear sliding down one cheek. His lips moved to her cheek, her chin, traveling down to her cold wet neck. His arms tightened around her, and despite the iciness of the water, he was becoming aroused.

"House." Her tone was sad, but she let him kiss her, and when he again reached her mouth she opened it slightly to let him slide in his tongue. Then they were gently kissing each other, without the crazed passion that usually marked their encounters, but it was something lovely, something like the cold, cold water that surrounded them. She let her legs slide down his body so that she could also stand. She stopped paddling and let her arms float inertly in the water. But her mouth was twisting, turning against his, so gently, so lovingly, that he wanted to weep. Again his father's voice thundered in his head:_ MEN DON'T CRY, GREG! What sort of pussy __are__ you?_

He choked back tears. No way was he going to cry this time. He concentrated on his penis, which was defying nature and the freezing water by hardening. _Shrinkage my ass. _Although he couldn't guarantee his testicles weren't trying to get back into his body.

House took a step farther into the water, the oozy lake bed slippery under his feet. Johanna kicked lightly to stay afloat and move backwards with him, and then let her body float slowly downward again. They continued to kiss, and it was so beautiful to be naked in the water, under the blue sky, the trees surrounding them. House wanted to freeze this moment in time and keep it in his memory like a love letter kept in the back of a drawer.

He moved his head back and reached down with his long fingers to find her opening. When he did, the only sign of response was her eyelids fluttering. He carefully slid two fingers into her, making light circles with his hand. Johanna groaned softly, putting her hands on his shoulders, her feet above the lake bed. One leg slid upwards alongside his ribs, and she nestled her head into his neck.

Everything was so cold, but that only made it more intense, and in a strange way, pure. They were floating, barely anchored to the ground, stroking and petting each other, languorously kissing, little gasps and sighs escaping from each of them. She ran her fingers through his damp hair. House's hands moved down her back and found her strong muscular ass, which he grabbed and used to pull her against him once more.

She pushed away some leaves on the surface and arched her back, her breasts pressing against his chest. His cock was getting so hard it was starting to hurt. Because they were in the water he could slide it gently between her legs as if they were weightless. Johanna was sitting astride, rubbing gently against it, occasionally giving a kick outwards to keep herself in place. House closed his eyes and allowed himself to dip slightly lower in the water, until it was up to his neck. His leg protested but not nearly as much as if they were on land.

"Let me in," he whispered.

Slowly, she reached down and found his cock. Her touch made him jerk as pleasure ripped through his body. Gingerly, she guided him inside of her, again wrapping her legs around his lower abdomen. He slid in and even there it was cold, but the cold was a bracing jolt of ecstasy. Fighting to maintain his balance, he planted his feet wide apart in the lake bed, and gently rocked her in the water against him. He felt them both warming up inside of her, his arousal building, as she tried to stay still in the water.

"Oh my God, Johanna, oh my God," House gasped, his movements become more vehement despite his intentions. Holding his sides, she leaned back the length of her arms so that she had some leverage and could move her hips in rhythm with his. He felt her vagina moving and clenching, pulling him deeper inside.

"House, damn you, oh, that feels _so good_…" Johanna whipped her head back and the back of it went into the water. They couldn't help it, they were speeding up, House pushing and pulling in and out of her, trying to hold her to him lest she float away, pleasure heating his icy body and he was hot, yes, he was hot, he was sweating, despite the frigid water. Fire was licking throughout him, he was going to have the biggest climax of his entire life, oh God, he had to keep his balance, it was as if everything was conspiring to make him slip in the water. But still he kept pounding into her, letting her arms slip down his, gripping them, holding onto them to hold her in place.

"Oh, Jesus God, oh, fuck, _oh fuck_, shit—" House went rigid, and then his orgasm slammed into him, jerking and shuddering, his eyes flying open at the sheer rapture engulfing him. He stared down at Johanna, her eyes closed, head half submerged, and then she too climaxed, pressed to his crotch, again and again. Involuntarily her neck curved, lifting her head out of the lake, as she grunted and gasped, until suddenly she went slack, her legs no longer gripping him. She was floating in the water, gleaming in the sunlight, and House thought he had never seen anything so magnificent in his life.


	60. Chapter 60

"I could teach you to swim, you know," Johanna said, righting herself.

"My dad taught me how to swim," House growled.

"How marvelous!"

"Yeah, it's marvelous to be thrown into the deep end of the pool when you have no idea what you're doing." House's leg was starting to ache again.

She stared at him. "Your father did that to you?"

"By the third time I decided not to drown. By the time I was fourteen, I could swim faster than he could." House looked up at the overhanging trees. "I'm sure he's happy now. If he wasn't dead, he could outrun me, out swim me, beat me at racquetball, you name it. Good thing he's gone."

"But you could hold on to me, and you wouldn't have to kick hard at first—"

"I don't feel like a pity swim, thanks." Shit, he was going to need help to get up out of the lake. "Do you mind?" He jerked his head in the direction of the bank.

Johanna rolled her eyes. "No, of course I don't."

She helped House up onto the bank of the lake. Despite the bright sunshine, they were both shivering.

"I'm so _cold_, House."

"Try to think of it as bracing." House pulled away from her, grabbing his cane. He didn't want to look at her face. He didn't want her to see his facial expression right now. If he'd been anywhere else, he could have gone into another room until he was himself again. Instead, he was deeply unnerved by what had happened in the water. Not the sex part, but the other, elusive part. House certainly didn't consider himself a man who thought of an experience as "pure." What a girly word. His father would have kicked his ass. _Nothing pure about fucking, you pussy._ She had offered to teach him to swim: tonight, a Very Special Episode on the Hallmark Channel.

"Oh, my!"

House stopped in his tracks. Burton was staring at them, a glazed look on his face, rubbing his soaking wet breeches in the front. With a gasp, Johanna ducked behind House. The Hallmark Channel had turned to pay-per-view porn.

"Cut that shit out, Burton," House barked. He wasn't bothered by being stark naked in front of the man, but watching Burton pull on his pud was not on House's to-do list. Burton was undoing his breech buttons.

"Oh, my!"

"MOTHERHIPS! COME AND GET YOUR BUTT PARTNER, **NOW**!"

Motherhips hustled from behind a holly bush, his dress also drenched, the hem muddy. "Darling!" he admonished Burton. "You put that back _this instant_!"

"But—"

"Do I have to punish you?"

"I'd like that, my dearest."

"Men!" Motherhips shot a look at Johanna, cowering nude behind House. "Burton, I'll be happy to punish you later, but do as the man says."

"But—but they haven't got any clothes on!" Burton mewled.

"I haven't got time for this," House growled, scooping up his wet attire from the ground. He shook the grass and dirt from them, and proceeded to hang the breeches and stockings on a bush to dry in the sun. Johanna ran to where she had left her clothes. House's one concession to conventional decency was to pull on his white shirt, which clung wetly, but hung below his waist. Motherhips and Burton could see his scar. Fuck 'em, that would shut Burton up. House had to lean on a tree to pull on his wet leather shoes. How could he have ever taken furniture for granted?

His frock coat was dry, and helped a bit with the chill.

By the time he was finished, Johanna emerged fully dressed and dry, except for her wet hair. She walked up to him.

"I don't have any slippers, House," she said. "They fell apart."

"I'd give you my shoes, but I'm a cripple," House said, looking down.

Johanna gave a loud sigh, which suggested that she had expected this reaction. "I'm certain I can wear your boots, if I roll the tops down. Kindly unpack them?"

House unexpectedly felt bad for her. If only he was the touchy-feely kind of person, but he wasn't. She would just have to deal. House limped to the carriage and, with the help of Motherhips, got down the case where he had put the clothes they had been wearing when they first ran from the palace. He pulled out the leather boots, looking at the military uniform, rumpled gown, and other items.

"Does anyone here know how to make a fire?" asked House when they returned. He handed the boots to Johanna and glanced at her feet. "Your slippers, milady."

Motherhips gave Burton a hard nudge. "Stop rubbing yourself and answer the man."

"Yes—yes, I know how to make a fire, sir." Burton's voice was returning to normal.

"Thank God you know something constructive to do with your hands. You get a fire going, and we'll hunt for something edible around here."

House bitterly resented the princess as she easily stood on one foot, pulling on first the left boot, then shifting and pulling on the right one. How long had it been since he could stand on one foot?

"But how?" asked Johanna.

"We search…Motherhips and I will search, you'll come with us, and pick what I point at. I'm guessing you've never seen fruit unless it was on a plate."

"But I don't—"

"I know, I know, you don't pick fruit, you don't want to scratch your delicate hands, you're royalty, _I get it,_ okay, Johanna? Shut up and let's get moving. I'm starved."

"Has anyone told you that you can be quite offensive, House?"

"On an hourly basis. It's what we do."

#########################################################

Foraging around the banks of the lake, Johanna and House found wild blueberries, watercress, and elderberries.

"It took more than Wilson to make you this bitter," Johanna said, pulling clumps of elderberries from the bush and dropping them into her skirt, which she was using as an improvised basket. "You told me there was a woman in your life."

"Yeah." Leaning precariously on his cane, House pulled watercress out of the soil, then dragged it through the water. "We had a thing a long time ago. Then she became my boss. Then I decided I was interested. Then she decided to rob the cradle."

"What does that mean?"

"Let's leave it at tender twelve and never been kissed. Before that, I lived with a woman—I was in love with her—but when my leg—Stacy's the one who authorized the surgery. Bitch. I've been working on it, but forgiving someone for screwing up my life isn't my strong suit. Beyond that, it's mostly been prostitutes. There are a few regulars, but I prefer to keep it fresh. And impersonal." He bit into the watercress, savoring the tang.

"Yes, I can see how you would," Johanna said, pushing back through the bushes to where Motherhips was plucking more berries.

"Oooh, serviceberries!" Johanna cried. Motherhips was also using his skirt. House had filled his pockets. He was amused that Motherhips complained more about the "prickles" than Johanna did. The three of them stood in a circle, comparing what they had and eating berries.

"If we had flour, we could make pies," House remarked, popping a blueberry into his mouth. "Too bad we can't make elderberry wine."

"We should look in the carriage, to see if they have any cooking utensils," Johanna said. "My uncle always carries an iron pan as well as a costrel. He enjoys killing songbirds and cooking them over an open flame."

"Why am I not surprised?" House said.

They paraded their wares before Burton, who had managed to get a small fire going with twigs and dry dead leaves. House laid his ruined waistcoat on the ground and they all dumped the watercress and berries onto it. Johanna grabbed a handful and shoved them ungracefully into her mouth, leading House to the carriage.

With a practiced hand, she opened the boot and looked in. Smiling triumphantly, she produced a large cast iron flat skillet and a pair of tongs.

"You're so clever, _you_ can cook the eggs," she said to House, handing them over to him.

"Too bad we didn't stay back at the farm," House mused, tucking the equipment under his left arm. They walked back toward Motherhips and Burton. "Do you know how you can cook an egg without a fire?"

"How?"

"Look around the haystacks carefully enough, you'll see that one is probably smoking. That means the hay inside the stack is moldy and fermenting, which can cause it to burn. If you can find that, you put a whole egg in it. In an hour, you have a hard-cooked egg. You can also cook a potato that way."

"I'd love a potato right now," Johanna said wistfully, then blushed. "I didn't mean—you know—Mr. Potato Head."

"He'd make pretty good eating. Especially for Motherhips."


	61. Chapter 61

_A/N: If you've read this far, please leave me a review! And thanks!_

_Summary: House teaches Johanna how to play the blues._

The White Elephant Inn in Ramstown was larger, cleaner and far more welcoming than the Goat & Citrus. This time, when the two "couples" registered, they each had separate rooms. House was careful to pay in shillings, and again he had the apothecary case with him. The porters carried the cases up to the room, Motherhips barking orders at them as to which case went in which room. His years as a footman had served him well. Although the porters probably thought he was a bossy woman who had no right to speak to them that way. Motherhips was now wearing Johanna's mob cap, which went a long way toward making him look more feminine.

House shut the door behind him and Johanna. "'Alone at last,'" he said in a flowery voice. Afternoon sun shone in the leaded glass windows. The room was small but much cleaner than the Goat & Citrus. The bed had a faded quilt across it.

He stepped toward Johanna and took her in his arms, again feeling the blaze of passion as they went around her broad back. He started to kiss her, but noticed she was not kissing back.

"What?" he said, disengaging his mouth. "Are you still pissed—angry at me?"

"No." Johanna pushed his arms down, and walked across the stone floor to the bed and sat on it. "It's what Motherhips told me the other day. That my parents were murdered by my uncle. Even I believed they were ill, House." Her voice started to shake. "What sort of man would murder his own sister? What sort of man would pretend to be happy about my wedding, and plan to have me killed at the same time? I looked up to Uncle Louis. I believed in everything he taught me. And now I don't know what to believe in."

House sat down on a plain wooden chair near the bed. "Then don't believe in anything."

She turned her reddened eyes on him. "That's easy for you to say. You _enjoy_ believing in nothing."

"It's very freeing, Johanna."

"You wouldn't think twice about it if your mother and father were poisoned," she said bitterly.

"My dad's dead, so poisoning him would be counterproductive. My mom, on the other hand—yeah, I would think twice." House's thoughts drifted. "She cheated on my dad and had me, then looked the other way the years he abused me, but she's still my mother. Took me a long, long time to realize that. I've treated children whose mothers put their hands in hot frying pans. The little morons still wanted their brood mares."

"You have no concept of what I'm feeling!" Johanna exclaimed. "None, none! It's as if they died all over again." Her head stayed up, but now she was starting to sob hard. "I miss my mother. I miss my father. Even if I didn't see them all that often, I _knew_ they loved me." She lowered her head. "I'm sorry your parents didn't love you."

"It's complicated," House said with a sigh. He wanted to leave the room, go down to the barroom and have a very, very large glass of ale. Instead, he forced himself to get up, walk across the room, and put his arm around Johanna's shoulder. Time to push out some consoling lies.

"You'll get over it—no, you won't. You'll learn to live with it. That's the best you can do. If I can, anybody can." So much for consoling lies.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, snuffling loudly. "House, I've been taken from everything I know, everything I understand is backwards and wrong, I don't know where I am anymore."

"Join the club, Johanna, join the club." With a sigh, House pulled her closer, leaning his head on hers as she continued to cry softly.

##################################

When at last she had finished crying, House convinced her that they should go downstairs, have a drink and get something to eat. She wiped her face on the hem of her skirt.

"Do you always do that?" said House.

She shrugged. "When I'm finished with a dress, I discard it. One of my ladies in waiting takes it, or they give it to a servant. I wish I at least had a different skirt."

"Maybe we can find out where they sell clothes in this burg. I wouldn't mind having more than one clean shirt either."

He led her downstairs to the barroom. None of the other patrons gave them so much as a look. House took a table by the wall, seating Johanna with her back toward the room.

"You stay there, I'll get us a drink. Don't talk to anybody."

"As if I wanted to." She studied the grain of the wooden table. When House returned with two large glasses of ale, she eyed hers suspiciously.

"Ladies aren't supposed to drink ale," she said.

"Oh? If you look around the room, you'll see plenty of 'ladies' enjoying fermented yeast. Drink up. They'll be bringing us some sausage, bread and beans. No wonder you people die so young."

Johanna took a ladylike sip, and then tipped back her head and gulped down the entire glass. House flashed back on that first night at the palace, when she had knocked back the sherry with a practiced hand. This girl knew how to party.

"You want another one?"

"Not right now," she said, and burped. Turning beet red, she covered her mouth with her hand. Their food was served, and House tore into it. Nothing had tasted this good for a long time. Johanna was doing her best to eat in a ladylike way, but her hunger betrayed itself in the large bites she was taking. House signaled for two more glasses of ale.

He spotted Burton, his arm around Motherhips. They were at the bar.

"Oh, God, it's the Bobbsey Twins," House groaned. The ex-footmen were too engrossed in each other to notice anyone else.

Johanna turned and glanced around the room. "There's a pianoforte in the back!" she said, more than a bit tipsy.

"So I see."

"House, what was that word you used? Blue? The blue?"

"The blues."

"That means feeling sad, doesn't it?"

"That's one thing it means, yeah."

"Well!" Johanna slapped the table with satisfaction. "You are the blues, I am the blues, we are both the blues. I want you to teach me blue, House."

"I don't work blue. Johanna, at the risk of a royal reprimand, you're drunk."

"Am not." She stood up and pushed away from the table. "Maybe you don't want to play the pianoforte, but I am going to serenade these odorous peasants with a few light airs." She began a wobbly walk to the piano.

"Watch out, Missus, you've had too much!" said a man at the bar.

House pushed through the crowd and took her arm in his left hand. "I'll teach you, but you have to do what I say. Keep your face away from these people."

"It's a nice face."

"That's not the point. Jesus, Johanna, if you're going to drink like that, at least tell me you can't hold your liquor."

"I held it just fine." She hiccupped. "Didn't spill a drop."

They made it to the piano, Johanna sitting on the left side of the bench, House on the right. It felt so comfortable sitting next to her, feeling her skirt and petticoats against his leg.

"Very well," she said. "Teach me blue."

"The _blues_." House rolled his eyes. "All right. Place your hands on the bass clef. This is a basic twelve bar blues in the key of C minor." He showed her the chords, C, F, and G, all similar. Johanna placed her hands on the chords, and tried to hit them all at once.

"No, like this." House demonstrated on his side of the piano. "Imitate me." He began the rolling beat of the basic blues.

Thank God, Johanna actually knew how to play the piano, drunk or sober. She followed the beat, even though it was obviously completely strange to her. After a minute or so she was playing twelve-bar blues as if she'd invented it. House flushed with pride. He saw that more than a few of their audience was staring at them, unable to make sense of what they were playing.

"You keep that up, Johanna, and I'll play the middle and treble clefs. Slow it down." House played along with her, and then started adding baroque flourishes to disguise the basic nature of the music. He wished they were alone, but it was her fucking fault they were in the middle of a barroom. Robert Johnson would definitely not go over with this mob.

House started to sing, improvising:

_There was a Mister, his Mistress name was Jill_

_There was a Mister, his Mistress name was Jill_

_They needed them some water, so they went climbing up a hill_

_There was a Mistress, her Mister's name was Jack_

_There was a Mistress, her Mister's name was Jack_

_She said "Listen, Mister, it's too high we better go back"_

Johanna was clearly getting into it, playing a rumbling bass chorus, her foot stomping the floor. House was grinning like an idiot.

"Play it!" came Motherhip's shrill voice over the crowd. He and Burton were clapping along.

_But old Jack was mighty stubborn_

_As stubborn as the hill was tall_

_If he'd had the sense his mother gave him_

_He wouldn't climb that hill at all_

_So what do you think happened?_

_Jack fell down and got—_

_A subdural hematoma!_

_A subdural hematoma!_

_His Mistress met a shepherd_

_Went back to his place and got balled_

Johanna played the bass line, and House continued to improvise up and down the keyboard, mixing a bit of Schubert and Mozart. It didn't sound great, but it kept the natives from getting restless.

"I don't feel the blue," Johanna said, smiling at him. House refrained from correcting her. He didn't feel the blue, either.


	62. Chapter 62

_Summary: House, Johanna and Motherhips find themselves in an unexpected predicament: delivering a baby. At least one of them knows when he's doing._

House pushed through the crowd to the bar, the apothecary case bumping against the other patrons. He ignored their reactions. The air was thick with stale alcohol fumes and tobacco smoke and human body odor. He rather liked it. Johanna was now tinkling some ladylike airs, as she would put it.

"A glass of ale, sir," said House happily to the tall bearded man behind the bar.

"And for the lady?"

"Nothing. She's blitzed."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My good wife is drunk, innkeeper."

The man smiled. "I'm not the innkeeper, sir, I'm only the bartender." He poured House a glass of ale from a hand pump and set it on the wooden bar.

"Where's…is his name White or Elephant?" House sipped the ale. Safer than drinking the water, that was for sure.

"It's Hamrick, sir. That's him at the end of the bar."

House turned, to see a round, fat blond man huddled miserably at the end of the bar, face pale, flipping a deck of cards purposelessly.

"Somebody's bright and shiny tonight. Let me guess. His wife caught him with the laundress."

"No, sir, his wife's having a baby. And a miserable time of it, too." The bartender shook his head. "Poor Hamrick. He's been there since yesterday. You can hear her if you listen."

House listened, but didn't hear anything save for the piano and the crowd noise. Then he heard it: a long, drawn-out scream.

"How's the midwife handling it?" he asked.

"She isn't. She's in another village. I don't think the missus will last the night, if you ask me. Poor bastard."

Before the bartender had finished speaking, House limped through the crowd and found Motherhips. "I need you to go upstairs with me," he said.

"Why, House…"

"Not that! Get Johanna and a bottle of gin and meet me at the top of the stairs. It's not for a party." He pressed a coin into Motherhips's hand for the gin.

His leg protested with every step, but he made it to the first landing. The noise was coming from a door down to his left. He started toward it when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You can't go in there," said Hamrick.

"Your wife's having a baby. How long has she been in labor?"

"Since yesterday evening."

"You should be with your wife. This place can't be more unsanitary than it already is."

"But no men are allowed in. You know that."

"Says you," House barked. Not one of his better ripostes, but he was in too much of a hurry for wit. Motherhips and Johanna followed him up the stairs.

"House, what is it?" Johanna asked.

"In here." He pushed the thick wooden door open and went into the room.

A pregnant woman lay on her back on the bed, covered in perspiration, gasping. There were several candles burning in the small room. The windows were tightly shut and the curtains drawn. The light from the candles flickered against the stone walls. The room was airless.

Grunting in pain, House knelt down by the bed and looked into the pregnant woman's eyes. They were hazel, and glazed with exhaustion. The sheets were soaked with amniotic fluid and a tiny amount of blood.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I'm a doctor. Your husband said you've been in labor for almost twenty hours. How close together are the contractions?"

"I—I don't know." He guessed that when her hair was clean, it was a dull brown. She had pleasant, unremarkable features. Or would have, if she hadn't spent so many hours alone, sweating and contracting. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her lips were cracked.

House reached into his pocket for an eth tablet and swallowed it. Johanna and Motherhips were by the door, staring at the woman.

"Mom-Ass, open the curtains and windows," House said.

"But—"

"If either of you says a word without my express permission, I will club you to death with my cane." He turned back to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Jane."

"House! I can't come in here! She's having a baby! It's too impossibly vulgar," Johanna protested.

"Dreadfully vulgar," Motherhips echoed. "I feel faint."

"I apologize for my assistants," House said to Jane. "I forgot to tell them where babies come from." He gave them a poisonous glare. "Get in here and shut that damn door!"

They did as they were told, over the protestation of the master of the household.

"Can't you call for—a servant?" Johanna asked, gagging at the odor in the room.

"You're the servant. Welcome to your next life lesson."

Jane's voice was barely above a whisper. "How is my husband, doctor?"

"Not as fat as you are. Again, how frequent are the contractions?"

"I don't—" She suddenly shrieked in pain as a contraction shook her body.

House looked at Johanna. "Try counting off minutes until the next one. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand—"

She nodded, too shocked to do anything else. Motherhips did as he was told, pulling open the rough cloth curtains and unlatched the leaded glass windows. Waning sunlight and air came into the room.

House tipped the gin into a glass and put it to Jane's lips. "I'm sorry I don't have any anesthetic. This will have to do." He looked around the bedroom. "Or trained nurses, or ultrasound, or a fetal monitor, or even clean sheets." His gazed turned back to Jane. "I'm not an obstreti—a midwife, but you're damned lucky I'm here, or you'd one more mother who dies in childbirth."

"How can you-EAAAGH!" Jane's body tensed as another contraction hit. "Something's wrong, doctor, I can tell."

"The only thing wrong is everything around you," said House. "How many seconds, Johanna?"

"360 one thousand."

"Six minutes apart." House poured the gin over his hands and rubbed them together. "Closest thing to scrubbing down I can get," he said to himself. "Johanna, go downstairs. Tell Hamrick to get a bucket of hot water, and any clean cloths they have in the kitchen or for the guest rooms, and get back up here as soon as you can. Mom-Ass, don't look, I'm going for her lady parts."

"Euyuch!"

Johanna left, not looking at Jane.

House gently probed Jane's vagina, noting that her water had broken and soaked the bed.

"Bring the candle over here. I can't see a thing."

"But—but—" Motherhips's voice was quavering.

"Move it!"

Motherhips picked up one of the candles and brought it over to House, trying very hard not to look.

"Hold it there," House instructed him, guiding his unwilling assistant's hand so that it was close enough to shed light but not close enough to burn anything. Gently, he inserted his hand into Jane's vagina and checked her cervical dilation. "I'm guessing it's about 8 centimeters, which means the baby's coming soon."

"I'm going to be ill," Motherhips whimpered.

Jane wailed, the pitch rising and falling, her legs pulling toward her torso. House put his ear on her belly, trying as best he could to hear the baby's heartbeat. Something _was _wrong.

He lifted his head and felt her belly with his hands. "Shit. Breech baby," he muttered.

Motherhips let out a yowl. "Then she's going to _die_!"

"No, she's not, you snail-brained drag queen!"

"What?" Jane gasped.

"Talk to her, Motherhips. Tell her everything is going to be fine. Tell her to breathe. Or I'll make sure you won't."

Unwillingly, Motherhips sat down on the floor near the head of the bed, looking at Jane. "You are going to be fine,uh…what did you say your name was?"

"Jane. Who are you?"

"Glinda."

House looked up. "_Glinda_-? As in the good witch?"

"Never mind him, he's just a cranky doctor," Motherhips said, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair from Jane's face. "But he's a good cranky doctor." He looked over at House. "You are, aren't you?"

"The best. Now zip it."

Johanna returned, Hamrick behind her. He still refused to come in. Johanna took the large cauldron of hot water by the handle over her forearm and set it next to House. Then Hamrick handed her soap, and assorted cloths. "This was what I could get," he said. "I love you, dearest!"

"I love you, too," she gasped.

"Hamrick, be a good spouse and get your wife a fucking glass of water."

Hamrick slammed the door in his haste.

"We can't have you dying from thirst before I get that baby out of there."

House rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the water. It was hotter than he'd expected, and he indicated that Johanna was to pour the soap into the water. As she did so, he scrubbed his hands. Thank God he didn't have to use gin after all. Jane shrieked again, her head whipping from side to side.

"Hush, honey," said 'Glinda'. "You breathe in and out, slowly, and that will help you to relax. I had to do it the first time Burton pushed—"

"Glinda, I don't think Jane needs to hear about buggery right now," House snapped. "Johanna, soak one of the smaller clothes in the soapy water and wring it out. I've got to try to twist this baby around. Jane, is this your first child?"

"Yes," came the faint response.

"Damn." He felt Jane's huge belly. The baby was in full breech, curled up feet first. "I'm going to try external cephalic version to turn your baby around so that it's head first. It's going to be uncomfortable, Jane, but you're used to discomfort by now. Scream right into Glinda's face if you need to."

House felt the surface of her abdomen until he found the head, then with his other hand felt for the buttocks. From the feel of it, the baby was in full breech. "I'm moving it to the vertex position—head down. I think your uterus is pliable enough." House pressed down, and Jane caterwauled. Ignoring her screams, he slowly kneaded her abdomen, applying pressure around the baby, making it turn a slow somersault.

There was a knock on the door. "What are you doing to my wife?"

"We're playing lawn tennis! Johanna, go get the water."

Johanna opened the door and fetched the glass of water from Hamrick. He gazed past her, his face even paler than before. She shut the door and handed the glass to Motherhips.

"Here, sweet thing, you drink this down," cooed 'Glinda'. He tipped up Jane's head, holding it still, letting the water dribble into her mouth.

"House, how can I help?" Johanna asked.

"Wipe my forehead," said House, who was dripping with sweat. Johanna did so with a warm cloth.

"I'm sorry I wouldn't come in," she said, her breath smelling of ale.

"At least you're not calling yourself 'Glinda.'"

##############################################################

Nearly an hour later, House was still trying to move the baby. He had gotten it more than half-way turned. The sun had gone down. The room was only lit by candles. Jane kept up a steady howl, occasionally slowing to hiccupping sobs. 'Glinda' gave her water and continued to talk to her softly, reciting the epic story of his love for Burton. House was glad Jane was too far gone to notice the pronouns.

"We're almost there, Jane," House said quietly. "Any time now you'll have another squalling mouth to feed."

"Please, please, make it stop!"

"Sorry, no can do." House felt the baby's body finally turn into the vertex position. "Okay, Jane, you can start pushing. Glinda, Johanna, hold her legs apart."

"Do I have to?" Motherhips whined. Quickly he grabbed her right leg when he saw the look on House's face.

House grabbed another wet cloth, swabbing the vagina. "Jane, put your head forward when you push, inhale hard, and blow out when you push. It might take a while, but I promise you, you'll live to have another fifteen children."

Jane managed a smile. "Promise me?"

House smiled back. "I promise. Or Johanna here will kick my ass."

#######################################################

The final part of labor took over an hour. Johanna and Motherhips pulled her legs apart at each push, as House continued to clean up the blobs of placenta and amniotic fluid that preceded the baby.

At last, House saw the head. "It's crowning," he muttered. "About damn time."

"I'm going to be sick," Motherhips moaned, holding onto Jane's leg.

"Don't puke on the baby, Glinda, that's all I ask."

"Why isn't it coming out?" Johanna gasped, as Jane's left leg gave another spasmodic jerk.

"You can't rush the miracle of life. _Push_, for Christ's sake, let's get this baby out of you."

With a keening screech, Jane pushed and the baby slid out into the cloth House was holding. The umbilical cord hadn't been crushed, so there was probably no danger of brain damage. With his fingers, House cleared the infant's throat and rubbed its back, until loud crying resounded around the small room. With a folding lancet from the apothecary case, he sliced the cord.

"Here." House unceremoniously dumped the baby on the mother's chest. "It's a girl."

Jane smiled down at her baby. "It's a miracle. And all because of you, Dr.—"

"You don't need to know my name," House said gruffly. "Hold on, the placenta's coming." He bent down as a huge mass of purple and red quivering jelly sluiced out of the mother. "Do you people eat this?"

Jane stared at him. "No."

House opened the chamber door, to find Hamrick sitting on the floor outside.

"My wife?"

"Fine. Baby girl. I'm going to leave you to clean up the mess. Don't forget to cut the cord."


	63. Chapter 63

_A/N: Thanks, as always, for the reviews! I really appreciate them!_

_Summary: House discovers he's a wanted man._

The next morning, House awoke curled around Johanna, his arm over her. She was deeply asleep. He slid off the bed and quickly got dressed and fetched his cane.

"House…?" she raised her head, her expression slack with fatigue. He was exhausted, himself.

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon. I promise. Look, I'll even leave the damn apothecary case with you. Go back to sleep." He leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the mouth.

House wasn't sure which way Motherhips and Burton's room was. Hamrick's room was down the hall to the left at the top of the stairs. He guessed that they were bunking in the room on the left next to his.

He rapped loudly on the door.

"Who's there?" It was Burton's voice.

"House. Are you decent?"

"No!"

House swung the door open. Motherhips and Burton were in bed, shirtless. House had also woken them up. Burton clutched the threadbare blanket to his chest.

"Good morning." Motherhips smiled. "Are you here to join us?"

"As if." House settled himself on a chair near the bed. "Far be it from me to break up a happy marriage. No, I need to talk to the two of you. Johanna's been through enough for a couple of days, and I think the two of you will be far more use to me."

Burton yawned. "How?" he said through the yawn.

"Burton, you two seem to have a gift for getting information. I need information. How far are we from Rutgers?"

Burton considered. "A few hours east, more if we travel through the back roads as we've been doing. Perhaps you should tell him, Quincy."

"No, I went through hell last night. You tell him, Eldridge."

"Eldridge?" House asked incredulously.

Motherhips glared at him. "It's not as if you ever asked, _Marmaduke_. "

"Huh." It had never occurred to House that the two men might have had first names. "Don't ever, _ever_ call me Marmaduke again. So what is it you have to tell me?"

"Hang on." Burton scooted naked out of bed and fetched a large piece of parchment paper off of the dresser. Wordlessly he handed it to House.

**REWARD**

By order of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent

For the capture of the scoundrels who plotted the

**COWARDLY ABDUCTION OF**

**HER ROYAL HIGHNESS JOHANNA**

OF PRINCETON-ON- SEA

**STOLEN ON SUNDAY**

**FROM THE ROYAL PALACE**

_Abductor is one_

CAPTAIN MARMADUKE RAPPORTS SEXUELS AVEC DES CANARDS DE LA FONTAINE

ALSO KNOWN AS JOHN DOE

_Military captain, six foot high, age indeterminate, walks with a pronounced limp_

REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE CAPTURE OF THIS MONSTER

Henry Piggott, Agent

######################################################

_Shit shit shit_. House stared at the poster, and then swallowed two eth tablets. He caught Motherhips staring at him, so he tossed a tablet onto the blanket.

"Thank you," said Motherhips, and gulped down the pill. "Eldridge, get back in bed, you'll catch a chill."

Burton slid back in bed next to his partner. Under the blanket, he crossed his legs and crossed his arms on them. "You can see why neither of us wanted to be the bearer of bad tidings," he said. "If I might suggest it, House, Quincy and I can go about the village and see if the news has got out."

"Of course it's gotten out," House said, dropping the poster and rubbing his face in his hands. "Shit. Burton, you're right. Nobody saw us together last night, Mom-Ass and I were too busy upstairs attending to milady Hamrick and her new brat."

"You're welcome," said Motherhips sarcastically.

"Here's what I need you to do. We need different clothes, and firearms. I'll get the scabbard out of my case, and the gold, and we leave everything else behind. We're going to have to get out of here as fast as possible once you return."

"Very well, but we can't buy clothes and guns with talk," said Burton. "You'll have to give us some money."

"I also need you to get me—us—some more eth. Go to the apothecary first; get as much eth as he'll give you. And give me the receipt. I want to know how many eth cakes are supposed to be in the bottle." He gave Motherhips a look. "Come to my room when you're dressed and I'll give you a gold coin. Change it at the apothecary's. Not downstairs. That's what got us nearly killed on the road here."

"House," said Motherhips, "I hope you do not mind if I buy a new dress or two, and also a suit of men's' clothes."

"Why do _you_ need men's clothes?"

Motherhips let out a long sigh. "Wearing a dress is the only way I can be in public with Eldridge and no one will give us a second look. Besides, I look very fetching in a skirt. But I want to sit up next to him on the box, and it would be noticed if a woman was sitting next to a man up there. Don't we want to do whatever gets us noticed the least, House?"

"That we do, Quincy. I had no idea you had any brains."

"My extraordinary beauty makes most men react that way," Motherhips said with a proud sniff.

"We have to make a few stops first."

Burton considered. "It seems to me the sooner we get to Rutgers, the better."

"There are three items on my to-do list, Burton. The first is to find the mad house that King William is locked up in. The second is to find out if he's insane or not. The third is to go to the Frog and Peach tavern, and get in touch with whoever's leading the rebellion. They'd probably get a kick out of getting their original king back."


	64. Chapter 64

Johanna had pulled herself up to a sitting position.

"House, there's something I need to tell you."

"What?"

"After last night, you should know. I cannot bear children."

House glared at her. "Take a look at this. Being barren is the least of your problems." He thrust the poster at her.

Her brown eyes skimmed over it. "Oh, God. I knew they would be looking for me. I only hoped the news wouldn't travel so swiftly." She started to get out of the bed, but House stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I've sent the boys out on a shopping spree. Guns, food, and drugs. We oughta be good until we find your uncle."

"My uncle?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Johanna, I should have told you earlier, but I want to see your uncle and see if he belongs in the loony bin or not." House sat down heavily on the bed next to her, and winced in pain. Absently he ran a hand through her hair. "I'm guessing he doesn't…well, as much as anybody who's been in a loony bin as long as he has. He's probably gone insane from the oh-so-comfortable treatment he gets. But I want to see for myself. If he can put a sentence together, I think the rebels might have a shot of getting him back on the throne."

Johanna was silent for a moment, and put her hands on her knees. "I shall say one thing for you, House. You never cease to surprise me. You want to get my uncle to the rebels. It can't possibly happen. They'll capture me before we can get to the madhouse, and then they'll…" She laid her head on his shoulder. "And to think I told you I thought executions were amusing."

"I promise to be extremely entertaining." House slid his arm around her, one corner of his mind reassured by how right it felt. Too bad it might all end in bloodshed. But not if he could help it. He turned her face to his and gave her a gentle kiss. They kissed softly, languorously, as if they had all of the time in the world.

He shifted his face so that it was alongside hers, facing over her shoulder. "We have to eat. I can't leave this room until Motherhips and Burton get back. I can't have anyone see me limp. Damn. _Damn._ You'll have to get us a meal downstairs. Do you know how to do that without commanding somebody?"

"I think so."

"You'll have to say _please_. Think of it as practice for being in hiding." He drew in a deep breath through his nose, filling his lungs with the smell of her hair. "Say your husband's exhausted and needs rest after last night—this morning—whenever we got out of that birthing chamber. We'd better stay here in this room until the happy couple gets back."

"I can think of worse things, House."

House was about to say "Me, too, " when he was rescued by a soft tap at the door.

"House?" It was Burton.

"Wait a minute." House pulled himself up using his cane, and limped to where the apothecary case sat on the floor. He slid open one of the small side drawers, revealing a small pile of gold coins. Taking a few, he went to the door and opened it. Motherhips and Burton waited outside, dressed for town.

"Here," House said, dropping the coins into Burton's outstretched hand. "Remember, as many guns and drugs as you can get. Food and clothes, whatever. I have my priorities. And remember, I want a receipt from the apothecary, because I'm going to _count_ how many tablets are in the bottle." He turned to Johanna.

"Pull on something and go downstairs with them. Remember, you're Mrs. House, and these guys are—"

"I know, Mr. Burton and his good wife," said Johanna resignedly, picking up her soiled skirt and jacket.

"Good luck, you crazy kids."

House watched the three of them leave, and then he flopped back on the bed, fatigue again flooding his body.

If this was all a crazy hallucination, why was he so tired and sore all of the time? Shouldn't he be full of youthful stamina? Shouldn't his leg not hurt?

House didn't know what it was, but he knew it wasn't a hallucination. God, he could use an epiphany right about now.


	65. Chapter 65

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS NC-17. FOR ADULTS ONLY. NOT SAFE FOR WORK, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR COWORKERS ARE VEGETARIANS.**

House dozed, aware of Johanna coming into the room, setting things down, and going out again. He rolled over on his left side and put the pillow over his head to block out the sunlight, and slept.

He heard Johanna's voice. "You're sleeping in your clothes," she whispered.

"Wha…hmm." House feebly batted the air, eyes closed. He felt her fingers deftly undoing his breeches and pulling them off, then gently sliding off his shoes. His leg gave a twinge of pain. He rolled over, barely cracking his eyes open. "Not now…tired."

"I know," she whispered, and he fell asleep again, lying on his back. It crossed his mind, what _if I wake up in Wilson's living room_…? But he fell asleep again.

"House…House…" it was Johanna's voice, whispering. His eyes fluttered open. A glance at the window confirmed he was still at the inn. The light outside was waning. His mind drifted…he had slept most of the day. This made sense, considering he had been up for most of the night helping the innkeeper's wife push out her goddamn baby. In a real hospital she would have been in the obstetrical ward. But in a real hospital, they would have determined weeks before that the baby was breech and she'd have had a C-section. Doing a C-section in a Regency-era inn…not be a good idea.

Something was not right. He started to shift, but Johanna's hand on his shoulder moved him firmly down on his back. House's eyes popped open, panicking. Had she tied him up again?

No, but there was something…on him. Something like…entrails?

"Johanna, what the fuck-?"

She grinned. "I cannot believe you slept through everything. Look down, but don't sit up."

He lifted his head and couldn't believe what he saw. Johanna had set his body like a dinner table without utensils. There were roast potatoes on his nipples, scrambled eggs on his stomach, and as far as he could see and feel, some kind of dark thick, warm liquid on his crotch. He felt other things but couldn't see them. He was not tied down.

Panic turned to amusement, and amusement turned to arousal. "You are one sick woman."

Johanna was still grinning. She tilted her head, and House noticed her hair was wet. "Well, you were lying there, and you looked _so_ delicious, I thought I would add some ingredients."

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

"No. But you did me the favor of not moving, not even while I poured warm gravy all over your groin. If you can keep from moving, I should very much like to have my supper."

"You could eat me."

"Not to worry, we can share. There are pieces of pig's lungs on your thighs. Maybe we should start there."

House watched, amazed, as she knelt by the bed. He felt vague pressure on his bad thigh as she picked a small chunk of pigs lung off of it, then slowly slid it through the gravy on his crotch—_WOW_—and looking at him, licked the gravy off, then popped the meat into her mouth and chewed it slowly, then swallowed.

"You must be hungry," she teased. "You missed breakfast, House."

"Um…uh…yeah. But pig's lung-?"

"Don't be so close-minded, House, that's not like you." She picked up the other piece of pigs lung, her fingers gently brushing the hair on his left leg, and again she slid it through the gravy—_OH MY GOD_—on the other side of his groin.

"Excellent gravy," Johanna said, flicking her tongue on the meat. She leaned over and spread the bit of gravy on his lips with her tongue. It _was _excellent gravy, House had to admit. Keeping still was becoming next to impossible. Even if he was laid out like Shoney's Breakfast Bar. She put the meat between her teeth and leaned over House, who pulled it from her teeth with his. The waves of heat spreading from his privates could have boiled water.

Actually, pigs lung wasn't as bad as many of the things he'd had to eat as a boy traveling around the world as part of a military family. With difficulty he chewed and swallowed. He would much rather have been chewing on Johanna, but this was turning out to be fun.

"Eat the potatoes next," he ordered, gripping the bed sheet.

"Very well." She laughed. "In memory of Mr. Potato-Head!"

"Don't kill my buzz…_ughn_…" His member was stiffening under its coating. Thank goodness it wasn't that brittle chocolate they poured on soft serve cones, because he was anything but soft serve right now.

She slid her warm fingers into the equally warm potatoes, tweaking his left nipple as she did so, sending a shot of _fuck-me-now_ straight down to his cock. Laying her head on House's chest, she ate the roast potatoes off of his nipple, making sure to tease it with her tongue as she did so. His body jerked involuntarily, smushing part of the potato onto her face.

"Lick it off." Her voice was low with lust.

House's tongue shot out and licked the bits of potato from her face and chin. He would have to remember to complement the chef, they were delicious. His licking turned into kissing her chin and down her neck, feeling the pulse of her artery and the warmth of her flesh. With his right hand, he scooped roast potato off of the other side of his chest. He stopped kissing her and filled his mouth with it, staring into her eyes. Then he pushed his mouth into hers and spat potato into it. She was startled, but swallowed it, and they both giggled.

"Service with a smile," said House when they disengaged. "We need some protein. You're so perceptive, Johanna, I am really in the mood for eggs."

"Coming right up."

"That's a lousy pun."

"It's a pun?"

Johanna lifted herself so that she was leaning over his torso, and she bore down on the scrambled eggs, sucking them into her mouth, letting his skin go with a soft "pop". "Oh, these are _good_," she said, her mouth full. It was dizzying, the sensations of sex and flavors and textures, familiar and strange, exquisitely incandescent.

House grabbed a handful of eggs and thrust them down the front of her blouse.

She squealed at the unexpected attack. House yanked her blouse so forcefully it tore open. Not caring that the rest of the eggs were dropping onto the bed, he shoved his head against her chest and ate the eggs, making sure to draw his tongue slowly up and down the exposed part of her torso. She moaned with delight, grabbing his arms, arching upwards. He moved up to her small breasts, noting that if they had been bigger, more egg would have stuck to the top. Nevertheless, his mouth searched out every morsel, and as long as he was there, he suckled at her breasts until he felt her shuddering with desire.

"How about the main course?" he muttered between her breasts. The heat between them was intense. House could feel her temperature rising as he robbed his head into her chest like an animal, including the top of his head. Insanely primal urges seethed through him. Always, always, she had that effect.

She pushed him away so that she could take his throbbing, gravy-covered cock in her hand. With the other she slid her finger up the underside, gathering gravy, and House could not help bucking again, almost screaming with need. He swore his dick grew three sizes bigger when she did that.

"Here." She slid the finger into his mouth. God, it really was good gravy. He sucked on her finger, hard. If he could, he would have sucked it so intensely her fingernail would have come off.

"Jesus, Johanna, I can't take much more of this," he gasped, feeling the sticky bits of egg under his side. The heat between them was intense.

She squeezed his member, then stroked, using the gravy as a lubricant. And then she lowered her mouth and took all of him in.

"Holy motherfucking _shit_!" House cried; he'd forgotten what a genius at cocksucking she was. Her brown hair flopped into her eyes as her head bobbed up and down, her chin and cheeks getting smeared with the gravy poured over his privates.

House sat up and held her hair as she sucked. Her tongue, teeth and lips were working to pleasure him, rivulets of drool and gravy running from her mouth, almost panting through her nose. He couldn't stand it…it was too much…"_Jesus fuck, Johanna_," he groaned. Her tongue teased his slit and wound around the head, then the strong sucking began again, and House swore he could feel her tonsils. He arched himself into her mouth, seconds from orgasm.

She suddenly let his stiff wet member slide out of her mouth and kissed him passionately, her mouth tasting of gravy and him, her tongue sliding, tickling his upper palate. He pulled her so hard she slapped into his torso, reciprocating her ferocity, sliding his legs open so that she was between them, her skirt skimming his legs. Gravy was staining the front of it as she lightly raked his shoulders with her nails, moaning with want. She inched herself upwards until her clothed crotch was on his naked penis, and she rutted against it, pushing as much as she could against him, their mouths kissing, biting each other's lips, licking each other's faces, trying somehow to climb inside of each other.

Her body shook and shuddered against his as she climaxed; her head swayed back, eyes shut, then swung back down to his shoulder, which she resumed licking even as he could tell that orgasms were tearing through her body. A long soft wail of ecstasy escaped her.

No sooner did he feel her relax than he growled, "my turn," pushing her to his side so that his rock-hard dick, gravy still in his pubic hair, sprang up. Immediately she went down on him again, bathing him with hot suction. It was utter bliss. He closed his eyes, his hips pushing him deeper into her mouth and throat, feeling the scrape of her teeth. House felt himself coming undone, blasts of scorching, pulsing heat traveling through him, his balls tightening, his body going rigid, until he exploded into Johanna's mouth. She swallowed and swallowed, licking the underside of his penis, causing him to keep coming until there was absolutely nothing left.

House fell back against the pillows, eyes closed, gasping in disbelief. Johanna lifted her head and sneezed, of all things.

"Oh, my!"

House opened his eyes to see Motherhips and Burton in the doorway, staring at the two of them. They were laden with packages and sacks. It dimly registered in House's mind that Burton wasn't rubbing himself.

"My apologies, House, we didn't—" Motherhips started to say.

House grinned. "Don't worry about it. We were just having dinner."


	66. Chapter 66

Johanna scrambled to wrap a blanket around herself. "The two of you, leave at once!" she ordered. Then she quickly wiped her face.

"Don't listen to her, she has indigestion," House said languidly, brushing egg off his abdomen. He picked up his breeches and draped them over his naked lap, making sure to also cover his scar.

"House, get up and let me take off the bedclothes. They're covered in food," Johanna ordered. "It's perfectly filthy."

"You didn't think so when you made me into a human buffet table."

"That was different." She shuddered. "I cannot bear dirty bedclothes."

House stood up, holding his breeches in front of him like an apron. Trying to hold the blanket under her arms, Johanna started to strip the bed. God, it was so Wilson of her. Although Wilson would have insisted on laying down a towel first.

Motherhips and Burton looked at each other.

"Very well," said Motherhips with a sigh. He knelt down and unwrapped a cloth-covered package. It was a large pile of assorted guns.

"I know you said to go to the apothecary first, House, but it seemed to us that a gunsmith would be quite happy to exchange gold for as many guns as we wanted," Burton said. "There are eight pistols, two for each of us, four muskets, and two rifles. The rifles were more expensive than the rest put together, but they have the best aim. And ammunition, of course." He looked up at House. "And we still have the highwayman's pistol and your sword."

"And my dagger," said Johanna. "I hid it in the carriage cushion."

House had other things on his mind. "Where's the eth?" he demanded.

Motherhips smiled. "We purchased a great quantity, House." From another package he produced two large glass bottles, each filled with eth tablets. House indicated that Motherhips was to give him the bottles. He eyed them.

"50 pills in each bottle," said House after a minute. "Or there was. 35 in this bottle, 41 in this bottle. Hand 'em over." He put his hand out to Motherhips.

"Are you suggesting-?"

"I'm saying that you stole 24 tablets from these bottles, and there are probably 22 or 23 of them on you. Give me the receipt and the eth, come on."

Chagrinned, Burton gave House the receipt and Motherhips dug the eth cakes out of his dress pocket. House counted.

"20." He opened one bottle and dropped them in. "Remember, Mom-Ass, don't get too stoned before we get out of here. What else do you have?"

"Food, and the clothes you wanted." Burton hesitated. "We went to a second-hand shop. We did the best we could, but we couldn't find anything that would fit the princess." Motherhips opened another package, cutting through the twine. It was a large bundle of clothing.

"I will NOT dress in men's' clothes!" Johanna exclaimed.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," said House uneasily.

"You're in luck," Burton said. "There was a theatrical troupe through here a month ago, and they sold their costumes for traveling money."

"Let me guess…the manager absconded with the funds," said House.

"How did you know that?" said Burton.

"Some things never change. You tell me I have to dress up as a clown, you're a dead man, Burton."

"Not you, House, the princess. We were able to find something _like_ a dress for you, your Highness—" Burton rummaged in the clothing pile.

"Here." Burton held up a dress with something odd dangling from the back. House burst out laughing.

It was a cherub costume. Pink and white, with cheap gold trim, and two wings made with horsehair frames and muslin.


	67. Chapter 67

House pointed out that they would need to travel light. In the end it was decided to leave everything behind save for the firearms, sword, eth tablets, gold, apothecary case, and food. House carefully filled the drawers of the apothecary case with eth tablets. Motherhips and Burton wrapped everything in bundles tied with twine.

"There's going to be a night watchman," Burton said. "We have to do something with him."

"Leave that to me," said Motherhips with a smile. "Don't come in to get our carriage until I give you the signal."

"Are you crazy?" House demanded. "I mean, besides the obvious."

"I know what I'm doing, House." Motherhips tucked his arm into his partners'.

After they had left, Johanna said, "This is ludicrous," looking down at her cherub outfit. She was also wearing men's leather buckled shoes.

"It's kind of hot," House admitted.

"Yes, it is hot, and the wings are scratchy. Why can't I remove them?"

House limped around to her back. "They're sewn into the seams in the back of the costume. You cut off the wings, the whole thing falls apart. This is very well done. Besides, your chemise was getting filthy."

House had changed into a new set of clothes, brown wool and a fresh shirt. He still refused to wear stockings. "I'm going to clean my teeth. Come here and I'll teach you how."

He went to the dresser where the porcelain water pitcher and bowl were. Taking the sodium bicarbonate, he poured a bit into his hand, then added water to make a paste. With his forefinger, he rubbed the paste on his teeth. Then he took a swig of water and spat it into the basin. "Give it a try. Didn't you clean your teeth at the palace?"

"Yes, but with a paste far more delicate than this, and a small brush." Johanna gazed at what was left in House's palm. She imitated him, dipping her left forefinger into the paste, then rubbing it over her teeth vigorously. She grimaced at the taste, and spat the water into the basin hard.

"That was _awful_."

"Sorry, I didn't have time to make it minty fresh. We'll wait until just before midnight, then sneak downstairs. Burton is going to harness the horses and lead them out, and we'll be there waiting, with the cargo. Then we're going to get the hell out of here. Hamrick's probably already reported us."

Johanna was startled. "But you delivered his wife's baby!"

"Money talks louder than gratitude, Johanna."

############################################################

At 11: 50, the inn was quiet. The bar was closed, and the rest of the guests had gone to bed. Hamrick's baby was squalling. House thought that was lucky, because then the innkeeper would be too busy with the crying baby to attend to any noises outside. Burton, Johanna and House carried the bundles down the stairs, trying to walk softly.

"Thank God we paid for the rooms in advance," House said.

They emerged into the half-lit darkness and crept to the stable yard.

The gate was bolted.

"Where's—" Burton tried the lock.

"Don't go in," House warned. "If Motherhips says to wait for the signal, we wait for the signal. The last thing we need is to walk into a trap."

And so they waited. It seemed endless.

"What is he _doing_?" Johanna whispered.

"I hope we find out."

After what seemed like ages, Motherhips emerged, skirts flying. He undid the bolt. "We can go in. The stableman won't be bothering anyone for quite some time. Thank goodness he was in rounds, or he never would have seen me. It made it so much easier. Come on."

They hurried into the dimly lit stable. House saw a bound and gagged man lying on the ground near some hay bales.

"He'd noticed me at the bar," Motherhips explained as Burton harnessed their horses. "It was almost too easy. I was the poor, neglected wife whose husband was…well…inattentive. I let it be known that I was _quite_ lonely. You forget what a coquette I can be, under the right circumstances."

"Oh, God." House rolled his eyes. "So, did you use that skilled mouth on him?"

"Of course!" Motherhips looked offended that House would have considered him doing anything else. "I took my time. Once I was finished with him, he was drowsy with contentment. Then I struck him with my cosh. I always carry one. A woman can't be too careful."

"You're not a woman, Motherhips."

"You should be damn glad _he_ thought so, House."

Burton had fastened the horses to their carriage. "Let's go!" House ordered. "Throw everything into the carriage and get in!"

In a few frantic minutes, the bundles and passengers were in the brougham. Burton led the horses out to the courtyard. Cobblestones! House swore at himself, why hadn't he thought of the damn cobblestones? He looked up at the inn, and saw some shadowy figures in the windows.

"Burton, get us out of here before we get shot!"

Burton scrambled up to his seat, cracked his whip, turned the carriage and went out onto the street at a brisk trot.

House had put the eth cakes in the apothecary case drawers. He took two out of his pocket and swallowed them. Damn, these carriages aggravated his leg. He and Johanna looked out the back windows as the carriage turned eastward.

"We'd better arm ourselves," Motherhips said. "Eldridge has two pistols and a musket. I suggest House and I do the same."

"And me as well," snapped Johanna. "I'm an excellent shot."

"But you're a woman—"

"Right now I hardly think my sex matters, Motherhips. Give me the guns."

The horses were cantering along in the dark. House wondered if they had indeed made a clean getaway.

Then a shot shattered one of the two carriage lights.

"Burton!" House yelled, leaning out the open carriage door, "step on it!" He slammed the door shut. Johanna was staring out the back window. House saw past her. It was an armed pack of men on horseback—fucking Hamrick must have sounded the alarm. They were not wearing military uniforms. In fact, they looked like most of the men in the tavern. They rode every sort of horse, from cobs to slender thoroughbreds.

"It's the yeomanry!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no, it's a large party! Give me that musket!"

With practiced ease, she grabbed a musket, smashed open the back window, aimed, and fired. She quickly grabbed a packet from the box on the floor of the carriage, tore open the pouch with her teeth and poured the gunpowder down the barrel, spitting the metal shot into the barrel after it. House watched in amazement as she again pointed the musket out the window, aimed, and fired. There was a scream from among the men following behind them. Johanna ducked down and grabbed another package.

House and Motherhips had taken pistols. Breaking the side coach windows, they fired at the men on horseback following them at full gallop. House felt a shot hit the open door he was holding onto. He fired his pistol at the rider closest to them, and winged him. There were approximately twenty men following hard on their heels.

His instinct as a doctor was fighting his instinct to stay alive. If he could just wound them enough—

A shot flew past his head, and he knew which instinct he wanted to follow. He could hear Burton firing pistols from above them. House grabbed another pistol and fired directly at the rider, who fell from his horse.

The brougham swayed to the left, almost throwing House out of the opened door, so he slammed it shut. Motherhips dropped the empty pistol and taken up a musket, although he was much clumsier than Johanna. House reloaded his pistol, which took some doing, keeping care to sit as low in the carriage as he could. Naturally, his father had been a gun buff and took young Gregory to the firing range to "man him up." House had never thought he'd be grateful for it. He tamped down the shot, then leaned out the window slightly, aimed at a large mass, and fired.

Burton was lashing the horses as hard as he could, the carriage careening down the road. From what House could tell, Burton had fired all of his weapons, and House could only hope that their driver did not get shot.

"Ayeee!" Motherhips screamed, falling back into the carriage. The right side of his head was bleeding.

"Don't stop, Johanna!" House yelled.

"Never fear, I've taken down _three_ of them so far!" she shouted exultantly. Her cherub wings were beating together with the rhythm of the carriage.

House bent over Motherhips. "It's a small wound, your ear has been grazed," he said after an examination. "Come on, get up and keep shooting. I'll attend to it later."

"If there _is_ a later," Motherhips panted, picking up another musket. Wiping the blood on his shoulder, he again leaned out the window and fired. A horse whinnied in pain, throwing its rider.

House heard the whip cracking above them, which meant Burton was still driving the carriage. The horses pounded down the road, carriage squeaking and pitching, the occupants trying to stay upright, load and shoot their guns. Johanna ducked her head as a shot flew past it and buried itself in the wood of the other side of the interior.

"Damn you!" she yelled, aimed and fired directly at the shooter. "HA!" Evidently she hit her target. Johanna really _was_ bad-ass.

A horseman drew up beside them, his face gleaming with sweat. He pointed his gun straight at House. "Down!" yelled Motherhips, and shot the man directly in the face. Blood exploded onto the carriage door. The horseman disappeared, his mount spooked and running away. Lead shot still pelted the carriage back and sides. Johanna, Motherhips and House were reloading and firing their weapons as fast as they could, and the pack was thinning. But the ones who remained were riding harder and faster, gaining ground on to the coach.

House looked ahead at the road. There was the gleam of a river and a wide wooden bridge. There was no way the brougham could go off the road down into the river; they were going to get caught for sure.

Suddenly, as they reached the bridge, the brougham took a hard right, throwing the occupants against the side and almost tipping over. Burton had swung the carriage at the last moment!

The yeomanry, unable to stop their momentum, went clattering across the bridge.

Burton lashed the horses to gallop down the dirt road along the river. The three inside frantically re-loaded their weapons.

"That'll slow 'em down a bit," House panted.

"Not for long," said Motherhips. His shoulder was covered in blood. "Once they turn around they'll catch up with us for certain."

"They haven't caught us yet!" Johanna exclaimed. House looked at her. Her face was flushed with excitement, her brown eyes glittering, her lips blackened with gunpowder. She looked like a modern Goth cherub. House remembered Burton, back in the barn, saying that House was frightened of her. Right now, she was pretty damned scary. She held a brace of pistols in her hands.

The brougham had righted itself, when it veered off the road, into the woods.

"What is Eldridge doing?" Motherhips cried. "Eldridge, go back to the road!"

Burton couldn't hear them anyway. The coach lurched through the trees, presumably along a path, but it didn't feel like it. Trees battered the sides, the wheels bounced over rocks and roots.

House stared out the back window. He couldn't see the road anymore, only the faint glints of the river through the black leaves.

"We'll _never_ make it this way," Johanna exclaimed. "It's not a road, what is he trying to do?"

Terrified, they crouched on the bottom of the carriage, listening to the thunder of hooves and the swooshing and smacking of leaves. If he believed in God, House would have prayed, but not a chance.

With a terrific jolt, the carriage stopped, jounced, and then tipped over onto its side, crashing into the ground.


	68. Chapter 68

For a long, horrible moment, House relived the bus crash that had ultimately killed Amber. As their bodies went flying, he again saw the flying glass, the bright fluorescent lights, heard the screams, tried to grab her hand—

The carriage landing on its side jolted him out of it. Outside he heard the horses whinnying, felt the carriage bumping as they tried to escape from the traces.

House was lying on top of Johanna, who wasn't moving.

Motherhips scrambled upwards to what had been the left side carriage door. Above it was the night sky.

"Eldridge!" he yelled into the dark.

"Johanna…?" House whispered, softly rubbing one side of her face with his hand. He started to shake. _Not again. _Amber dying, losing Wilson, all of that emotional agony, he couldn't take it again. Not here, and not her.

Her eyes opened.

"House, what—?" House felt her shift under him. He slid off to one side, bumping into Motherhips. House's leg was spasming.

"Don't move."

"But I'm all right." Her voice was unsteady.

"Bullshit! Don't move until I give you permission." He cradled Johanna's head in his hand, softly brushing his fingers through her hair with the other, checking for broken glass or contusions. There were none. "Does anything hurt?"

"Your hands are trembling," she said.

"I can't—does anything _hurt!_"

Motherhips managed to pull himself up and out of the open carriage door. They heard a thump as he landed on the ground.

"No. What happened?"

House tried to examine Johanna. In the dark he couldn't see her eyes well enough, but as far as he could tell she had no broken bones. No blood met his fingers.

"The—the carriage crashed. I don't know why. Stay still until I can make sure you are all right. You'd probably want to jump out of here and sprain a damn ankle." He drew in a long, shuddering sigh and slumped against what had once been the rear seat, now straight up.

Outside he heard Burton and Motherhips' voices, along with the continued whinnying of the horses. The carriage bumped hard again.

"House! We have to get away from here!" Burton shouted. "They'll find us!"

"Shut up!" House yelled back.

"House!" Burton shouted again.

"House, you've got to throw us everything in there," came Motherhips's voice.

"Johanna, you've got to _promise_ me you won't move," House ordered.

"Why?"

"I have my reasons! Help me find the goddamn guns, and the apothecary bag. Be careful, there's broken glass and what's left of a door. Too bad we don't have carriage insurance."

They carefully scrabbled in the dark. House found his apothecary case. It was still in one piece. He slid open a drawer and took out two eth tablets, swallowing them dry. The muskets and rifles were strewn about the interior, along with the ammunition. House insisted Johanna continue lying down, handing him anything she found, which he tied up into bundles again and tossed out to Motherhips. House stood up and looked over the carriage side, his feet sliding a little. The carriage had crashed into a tree, tipping it over.

"I'm going to hand you my apothecary case and my scabbard," House said. "You might have to assist me with Johanna."

As he handed out the items, he felt the carriage give a slight lurch as Johanna picked herself up.

"I told you—"he said furiously.

"We have to keep moving, House! Don't worry about me, find your cane." She was sitting, fumbling around. "You have to have your cane!"

"_Johanna_—"

"Found it!"

"Shit, you ruined a perfectly good tirade." House handed his cane to Burton. "Now how the hell am I going to escape from this music box?"

"I can boost you," said Johanna. "The way you boost someone onto a horse. You put your left foot in my hands."

After a lot of protesting and failed attempts to get out, House allowed her to "boost" him up, and he dropped onto the ground. Pain stabbed all through his right side, concentrating in his leg but radiating outward. Johanna climbed out on her own. The right cherub wing on her costume was bent, but the damn thing was otherwise intact. It figured.

Motherhips and Burton were working with the horses, who were both spooked and jumpy.

"Come on, Storm, good boy, there's a good boy," Burton said in a soothing voice. "Quincy, keep the lead ropes to the side, particularly with Smoke, keep his head turned."

Burton was unbuckling the harness straps and discarding them; patting and talking to the horse he called Storm. He cut the driving reins and tied them together to make them riding length, then fashioned a strap around Storm's withers using the leftover reins, tying it at the top.

"You can ride on Storm with this, House," he said, gesturing to the leather strap. "Your Highness, can you ride bareback?"

"Of course I can."

"Give the horse another minute or two. I'm not cutting the traces loose until both of you are on his back. He might bolt. Both of these horses have been trained for carriage and riding. I trained Storm myself."

Burton went around and unbuckled most of Smoke's harness. This horse was definitely more skittish, ears flat, trying to snap at his master. Motherhips gripped the lead rope. It was more work, but soon Smoke was stripped down, most of the harness on the ground.

"We have to divide the weight of our gear," House said, buckling his scabbard on. He made sure to buckle it to the left side. If he was going to be jounced to pieces on a horse, at least his goddamn sword wasn't going to make it worse. Picking up one of the leather straps, he fastened a shoulder strap that tied around the apothecary case and slung it crosswise across his body, on the right side.

Pistols loaded, Johanna mounted Storm, taking the reins. House submitted again to the embarrassment of being boosted up by Burton behind her, where he gripped the strap. Once upon a time he had been able to ride a horse, but if he tried to grip with his thighs, he would most likely pass out.

Burton cut the carriage traces, and Storm jerked forward. House grabbed the strap, sliding backwards on the horse's body. "This nag rears, I'm a dead man," he muttered. Burton led Storm away from the carriage with the lead rope, and then tossed it to Johanna.

"We had better head for the Frog and Peach," House said. "We can find the rebels there. Do you know the way from here, Burton?"

"Enough." Burton pulled himself up onto Smoke, Motherhips tucking up his skirts and joining him.

"If we get separated, it's every man, woman, or otherwise for himself," House said. Johanna's wings bumped him in the face.

Another fucking cherub.


	69. Chapter 69

Because of the possibility of losing their second riders, Johanna and Burton kept their horses to a steady trot through the woods. House held onto the leather strap, feeling decidedly Job-like. Between Johanna's wings hitting him in the face, the scabbard containing sword and cane bouncing against his left leg and the apothecary bag jouncing against his right side, not to mention his slippery hold on the horse's back, there was only one thing that kept him from picking up his marbles and going home.

There was no home to go back to.

It had been more than an hour, and his backside was getting seriously sore, as were his knuckles from clutching the strap.

"Have you ever ridden, House?" Johanna asked, easily following the horse's rhythm.

"Yes, I used to be quite good. I used to be quite good at a lot of things. None of which would mean a thing to you." House thought about his beloved motorcycle. If Wilson could see him now, he'd have a coronary. House couldn't remember the last time he had actually ridden a horse.

"I'm sorry. Now I think I know a little bit about how you feel."

"How could you? You liked being her royal highness."

"I hated it. No friends, only servants—ladies in waiting aren't your friends, as much as you would like them to be. They're sycophants. The only person I could trust was my grandmother. And now I'll probably never see her again. I wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye."

"So do I. Oh, shit! Here come the Indians."

The sound of voices and hooves crashing through the woods could be heard.

"Hang on!" Johanna yelled, spurring Storm into a gallop. House grabbed the strap harder, the weight of his load almost pulling him entirely off of the steed. Burton was kicking Smoke in the flanks, Motherhips's arms around him. The latter man had a major advantage over House; he could grip with his legs.

Leaves and branches tore at their faces as they galloped through the forest. House kept his head down, but it didn't help. Johanna was bent low over her horse's neck, kicking him hard to urge him on.

From the sound of it, there were not as many pursuers as before; probably the remnants of whoever had been chasing them. House turned and looked, but he could not see them through the darkness. There might have been fewer, but there were still enough to kill them.

"Watch out!" Johanna pivoted around to her right and fired her pistol. The explosion nearly deafened House.

"Jesus!"

The horsemen drew closer. Shots rang out from between the trees, some whizzing past them. Johanna aimed and fired her other pistol.

"Got him!" she yelled. "Burton, get closer and hand us muskets!"

Motherhips was holding Burton with one arm and shooting with the other. Burton rode closer, and Motherhips handed over two muskets, as easily as if they were all trick riders in a circus.

House looked back to see the shadows of their pursuers, almost losing his balance again. He felt a musket being pressed into his side. "Shoot!" Johanna exclaimed.

"Crap!" House balanced the musket on his left shoulder with one hand, holding on to the strap with the other, and pulled the trigger. The musket kicked against him and his ears rang from the explosion. He hit something, he wasn't sure what.

Johanna pivoted around again, holding the musket with both hands, letting the horse gallop. She aimed and shot. Another crashing thump occurred behind them. Motherhips let out a triumphant cry.

"Well done!"

The horses crashed down the side of a low hill and up again. House held on for dear life, feeling the animal's legs working beneath him like pistons. He heard, rather than saw, Motherhips taking another shot. Now it sounded like there only two or three horseman after them. Johanna and Burton urged on their mounts, jumping over fallen trees and pounding along in the nearly pitch black woods.

The hoof beats behind them receded, until they faded altogether.

#########################################################

It was just before dawn when the exhausted travelers reached the town where the Frog & Peach tavern was located. It was a large establishment, painted black, off the main street.

The horses had been slowed to a walk so as not to exhaust them. House's butt had gone numb hours before, and his hands ached from holding the strap. His leg was killing him.

"There it is," Burton said, pulling up. Motherhips was leaning against his back, almost asleep. He sat up. "Oh, thank heavens."

"Thank heavens for the horses. I'm going to see to it they're bathed, groomed, watered and fed." Burton patted Smoke's neck. "Good boy."

"So here we are," House said to Johanna. "I really didn't think we'd make it." When she didn't answer, he leaned forward. "Johanna?"

Johanna slumped forward, dropping the reins, and slid off the horse, landing on the ground with a loud thump. She was unconscious.


	70. Chapter 70

House pushed himself off of the horse, trying not to fall, or at least land on his left leg. He managed neither. Searing agony shot through his right leg as it connected with the ground, and the load he was carrying on either side slapped against him, hard.

Men and women started coming out of the inn, gaping at the quartet.

"What's wrong with her?" said a woman.

House ignored them. He pulled off the apothecary case and knelt beside Johanna. She had landed on her back, head lolling to the right side. His heart was thumping so hard he was surprised no else could hear it.

House stared, trying to think of a way to test her pupils. The sun was bright, so he leaned over and opened one eye. The pupil constricted. Then he moved so that he was blocking the sunlight. The pupil dilated. He did the same thing with Johanna's other eye, with the same results. Pupils round and reactive, that was a start.

"Let's get her indoors," said a large man, walking toward them.

"Back off!" House made a threatening gesture toward his scabbard. "I need to examine my patient. If she has a spinal injury, moving her would be the stupidest possible thing to do. No wonder none of you live past forty."

The man lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, stepping back and glancing at the crowd that had gathered in front of the inn.

"Johanna," House patted her cheek gently. "Johanna?" Her dark brown eyes fluttered open. "Who am I?"

"Uh…Marmaduke. No, House."

"Do you know where you are?"

"We were riding…the woods…"

"Where are you _now_?" He stared intensely at her face.

"Lying on the ground."

"But _where_ are you lying on the ground?" House was reminded of their first conversation: _Where? Here, of course_. "And don't say here."

She frowned. "Did we reach the inn? The Frog and Peach?"

House let out a long sigh of relief. "Yes, we did. Now, follow my finger with your eyes." He held up a finger for her to focus on, then moved it back and forth. Her eyes followed it without problem. Then suddenly he thrust his finger in her mouth and down her throat, causing her to cough and gag.

"Gag reflex present," he noted. "Turn your head from one side to the other. Slowly." Johanna did as she was asked. "Now, touch your nose with your left finger, then your right finger." The absurdity of performing a neurological exam on a woman in a cherub costume lying in the middle of the road crossed House's mind, but fuck it.

"May I get up _now_?" There was more than a tinge of annoyance in her voice. House felt a huge wave of relief. Lack of bitchiness would be a very severe symptom.

He pulled out his cane and painfully got to his feet. Quickly, Burton and Motherhips came around and helped Johanna up.

"I feel a touch wobbly," Johanna said, leaning back against Motherhips.

"You fainted, probably due to exhaustion and dehydration," House snapped. "That is such a _girly_ thing to do."

"I do happen to be a girl, House."

"After the past few hours, I'm not sure about that."

#########################################################

House made sure that Johanna was put to bed, and, as the saying went, "resting comfortably." Which was more than he could say for himself. His leg was spasming, and his ass still hurt from sitting on a horse's backside all night. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Johanna, sleeping. She thought _she'd_ lost everything—try a whole _world,_ moron.

He thought about Wilson, and buried his head in his hands. Even back in Princeton, Wilson had been his link to past. The man who had known him for more than twenty years. Even before the infarction, before any of his staff. Losing Wilson didn't just mean losing his best friend; it meant losing his connection to the past. Who was he without his past?

Tears trickled down his face. He put out his tongue and licked one of them as it passed his mouth. It was just exhaustion, emotional and physical, that was turning on the waterworks.

Except that it wasn't.


	71. Chapter 71

House pulled off his clothes, swallowed two eth tablets, and slid into bed next to Johanna. The tears still trickled down his face, despite his best efforts to think about anything else: porn, racing at the Aqueduct, more porn…

Vascular ultrasound with a PW Doppler. Oh, God, that only made him feel worse. The most sophisticated piece of medical equipment in this place was a stick.

"House?" Johanna had shifted and was leaning over him.

He rolled away from her. "I'm asleep. Go away." More than anything, he wanted to hold her, but not enough to let her see him this way.

She touched his face. "You're crying."

"My eyes are sweating. Rare hereditary condition. Good night!"

"Is it…" her voice caught. "Is it Wilson again?"

He sighed, feeling suddenly exasperated. "Not everything is about _you_."

"I'm not Wilson."

"No kidding. And this isn't a hospital, I don't have an Ipod filled with Led Zeppelin and Big Joe Turner, I don't have a sigmoidoscope…not that I ever need one…and I'm no longer a doctor."

"Of course you're a doctor."

He glared up at her. "No, I'm not. In my life I saved lives. I was the doctor the patient went to after they went to every other doctor. I worked in one of the country's most prestigious teaching hospitals. Yeah, maybe I was a miserable bastard, but my life had a purpose. And I had an amazing record collection. And I could change my underwear every day."

"You're tired."

"Fuck yeah I'm tired." He closed his eyes. "I stopped trying to make sense out of all this weeks ago. How I got here, why I'm here, how I could get back…life is random, but this is random's grandmother." He turned his head back. "I'm finished pouring out my heart, so I'm going to get some sleep. Nighty-night."

He felt her flop back down in the bed. Something pushed against him.

A wing.

"Are you still wearing that goddamned costume?"

"Nobody took it off. I don't know how."

"Figures I'm in bed with a cherub. Roll over, I'll find the damn buttons and rid you of your divinity."

With an annoyed sigh, Johanna rolled onto her stomach, one of the wings swatting House in the face. He felt down the back of the costume, searching for the fastenings. Despite himself, he remembered how much he loved to stroke her body. She was warm, and they both smelled of sweat and horses.

"I think it buttons in the front," she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I pulled it over my head." Johanna moved up onto her elbows. "I can feel the buttons against my chest."

"Then come on, come on." He helped her turn over in the bed without getting hit by the wings again. Johanna's face was below him, her brown eyes shining. Before he could help himself, he kissed her.

Her soft full lips against his made him so horny so fast it caught him completely by surprise. Why did his brain keep getting overruled by his genitals? House grabbed her head and forced his mouth onto hers, shoving his tongue in, causing her to gag. He pulled away and smiled. "_Excellent_ gag reflex."

"I'll wager you say that to all the cherubs. You forget, I can control it," she said with an evil smile. "I dare you to break _this _cherub."

He felt the carotid artery in her neck. "Utterly possible. Your heart's pounding like a feral cat caught in a trap."

"Cats _bite_, you know." She moved her face closer and bit him sharply on the lower lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

That pushed him completely over the edge. House kissed her roughly, his mouth pushing against hers. His sore thigh protested. He shifted so that more of his weight was on his good leg, and kept kissing her. She kissed back with equal fervor, her arms snaking around him.

House buried his face in her neck, moving up into her hair, kissing it, and inhaling deeply. Before he could react, Johanna pulled him down on top of her. Once again it felt so right, so perfectly right, as if their bodies had been designed specifically for each other, their lust in perfect synchronization. For some reason, it made him even hotter that she was wearing a cherub costume. As long as she stayed on her back he didn't have to worry about the wings. And he was going to make sure she stayed on her back.

"Oh, God, _House_," she moaned, moving so that her head pushed against his mouth, rubbing his face with it like an animal, while her arms slowly moved down to grip his backside.

"Yes, yes," she continued moaning, so softly that he could barely hear her, but he could feel her whispered breath against his skin. She belonged to him, that much he knew, he always knew, that she was utterly and completely _his_, and he wanted her, wanted her with a ferocity that was indecent. The countless hookers who had paraded through his apartment had never made him feel this crazed by desire.

The cherub costume was made of some sort of scratchy tulle under the thick cotton over layer. House pulled down the neckline, which was already low, until her breasts were exposed. He ran a line of hard kisses down her collarbone, her breast bone, and then took her right breast into his mouth, sucking it hard.

Her breath caught, and her legs thrashed as if they had a mind of their own, her hips lifting. He pressed his naked form on hers, feeling the shivers of electricity pulsing through his body. His cock was responding to the sight of her delight; it was already half-hard. With a smile, House let the right breast 'pop' out of his mouth and lunged at her left breast.

This had an even greater effect—she arched upwards into his mouth, her legs digging into the mattress, rubbing against him. "Take me," she gasped. "_Please…_"

"No," he growled, loving the feeling of power, of ownership, of knowing how much his touch unraveled her. Her hand reached down and found his dick, which responded to her grasp with throbbing waves of pleasure as it hardened.

"Please." Her eyes were dark with wanting. Her hand stroked his penis with rhythmic motion.

"No," he repeated, his hand sliding under the scratchy tulle until he found her crotch, and her swollen clitoris. "My rules, Johanna. You want me to break the cherub? Be careful what you wish for."

Expertly, he felt her burning hot pubic area. As he had before, he slid two long fingers into her and gently massaged. She responded with an involuntary cry and a frantic bucking of her hips, losing her grip on him. He felt her inner muscles swelling and clenching against his fingers as she climaxed. It didn't matter that she wasn't holding his cock because it was more than rock hard, it actually was starting to hurt. House leaned down again, keeping his fingers inside of her, and again sucked her breast. Her entire body was jerking, she was whimpering, and he started thrusting against her, even though she was fully clothed. He didn't care; all he knew was that if he didn't come, he would have a heart attack.

"Oh, fuck, yes, Johanna, _oh, oh my God_, you bitch, you bitch."

"I'm your bitch," she gasped.

"You're my bitch," he spat, and the roller coaster that had been rising rose and then plunged, that was how swiftly he came, spurting all over the costume, barely in control of himself. Boneless, he dropped on top of her, pulling his hand out of her groin, listening to their breathing become slow and even.

Johanna was his bitch. He smiled. This world had its compensations.

###########################################################

They awoke to a pounding on the door.

"Oh my God, they've seen you," Johanna gasped. "Get under the blanket!"

"That's for children—"

"Get under the blanket!"

House did as he was told, feeling ridiculous and scared at the same time.

He heard the door open, and the sound of footsteps. Then a long silence. A very long silence.

"Johanna," he heard a man's voice say in amazement. It wasn't Mr. Potato-Head.

She sat bolt upright. "My darling!" she exclaimed.

_This _was unexpected.


	72. Chapter 72

_A/N: Congratulations if you've managed to read this long! Please review, praise or concrit or both._

_Summary: Johanna introduces House to a figure from her past._

"Sweetheart, you didn't tell me company was coming!" House exclaimed, popping out from under the blanket. He gave the three men standing in front of the bed a faux-embarrassed smile. "I'd get up and shake your hands, but I'm naked."

"Your Highness," said the man in the middle. The three of them were all dressed in black, with black tricorn hats. The man in the middle was so impossibly handsome that House wanted to take a scalpel to his face. His blond hair and beard gleamed in the light, his shoulders were broad, his legs were perfect, his nose was perfect (for a guy), and House bet that his ears were perfect.

"Your Highness!" said the man. He gave a deep bow, sweeping off his hat. Yeah, his ears were perfect. His two confederates dropped to one knee, also removing their hats, looking at the floor.

"Wow, that is some effect you have on men," House observed.

"I never thought—" the blond man's eyes widened. "Who _is_ this man? This must be—"

Johanna put her arm across House before he could say anything. "This is the man who saved me from a loveless marriage and certain death."

"By any chance do you pose for romance novel covers?" House asked.

"_House_—" Johanna said. "I never thought I'd see you again! Semple, this is Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine. Hou-Marmaduke, this is Lord Marmaduke Semple MacPherson Bout'A Bout Des Oiseaux. Semple, you've turned into such a fine-looking man!"

"Thank you." Semple bowed again. House noticed he didn't return the compliment. "Has this man hurt you? Is he keeping you from escape? Say the word, and I shall slit his throat with my cutlass!"

"Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?" House asked. "I mean, a _cutlass_?"

"House!" Johanna snapped.

"House?" Semple asked in bewilderment. "You call this man House?"

"It's an anagram," House said helpfully. "For Hero Of Unremitting Sexual Excess. Or Harbinger Of Unilateral Stiff Stander Escapades. Take your pick."

"Oh, do be quiet." Johanna rubbed the back of her neck. "It's—it's a code name we use."

"Mr. and _Mrs_. House," House added. "Johanna, can you ask them to leave so I can get my clothes back on? And you could tug that neckline higher, you know."

"Your Highness," said Semple, "may I ask what you are wearing?"

She blushed, her neck and face turning red. "It's a theatrical costume. A—a cherub."

"Little minx loves to play dress up, you know what I mean?" House gave Semple a broad wink.

"Leave us," Johanna commanded. Semple and his two associates left the room, all bowing and walking backwards, the way the servants had back at the palace.

"I always wonder how they don't fall down," House observed. "So, who is this guy?"

"My fiancé. Semple and I were promised to each other at birth. I told you, he gambled away all of his money. Which made him a most unappetizing prospect to my parents."

House felt a surge of jealousy. At least he knew that Mr. Potato-Head didn't have a chance with Johanna. But this guy—all that damn blond hair and perfect ears—

"So how long did you actually know Simple?"

"Semple."

"Maybe to you."

"Until I was fourteen." She ignored his rudeness. "I was so in love with him. He was—is—so beautiful, so daring, so reckless."

"Such an idiot with his personal finances."

"He couldn't help it. Semple told me, he was swindled by unscrupulous charlatans. He tried to win the money back, but it was too late. The poor dear had to go into the military, and our engagement was ended." Johanna looked as sad as House had ever seen her. Even if he hadn't been so pissed off, he would have hugged her. Beautiful. Jesus Christ laying floor tiles.

House got out of the bed and picked up his clothes. He had to shake the straw out of them. Why did the hicks in this burg think straw was carpeting? Beautiful. So Princess Bad-Ass was a sucker for a pretty face. House wanted to smash in that pretty face.

"Fourteen…I supposed he put a notch in your mattress?"

"No. I was a late bloomer. Fifteen. But I dreamed of him for years." Johanna looked at House. "I do hope this doesn't upset you, House."

"You're a free woman now, you can run off with Blond Beauty and live happily ever after," he said, sliding his feet into his shoes and running his fingers through his uncombed hair. Locating the apothecary case, he slid open the drawer where the eth tablets were. He swallowed three of them. For once his leg did not hurt that much, but he preferred to feel as little as possible.


	73. Chapter 73

A few minutes later, fully dressed, House opened the door. Blond Beauty and his confederates stood outside. Of course.

"Johanna doesn't want to come out. It's that cherub outfit. She doesn't want to be seen in public in it." House shrugged. "_Women_."

"What are you to her Highness?" Semple demanded.

"Some random guy who kidnapped her. Don't worry; I'm no threat to you two crazy kids." House leaned on his cane. "I need to talk to the innkeeper. If you'll excuse me, I have to cause myself excruciating pain by walking downstairs."

"We shall come with you," said Semple. His men followed House down the stairs. House gripped the banister, glad that he had taken so much eth. Ironically, everything he had been through had strengthened his bad leg somewhat. But the pain was no less and he wasn't going to try standing on one foot any time in the future.

House limped to the bar. "Are you the owner of this establishment? Are you Frog or Peach?"

The man behind the bar was gaunt, his skin badly pitted and his eyes on the rheumy side. "I'm Peach," he said. "What do you want?" He squinted at House suspiciously.

House turned to his followers. "Do you _mind_?"

Semple gave him a sarcastic bow, and the three men seated themselves at a nearby table, out of earshot. House leaned forward.

"I've heard there's a rebellion in these parts," House said in a low voice.

"There might be," said Peach, polishing a tankard.

"What's more, I've heard that this tavern is the place to meet and greet if you want to get in touch with the rebel leaders."

Peach stopped polishing. "Who told you that?"

"A little cock-sucking weasel named Alexander. Cock-sucking as in literally. I'm sure his character is exemplary. He works for Fendel, the palace apothecary."

Peach regarded House for a long moment. "You're that soldier that abducted the Princess."

"What gave it away, my flashing blue eyes?"

"Your limp."

"Oh, that." House looked down. "I keep forgetting. For your information, the Princess was quite happy to be abducted. She's upstairs, you can ask her yourself. Oh, and she requests a dress, size extra-large." House placed both hands on the bar. "I need to get a message to the rebels."

Peach turned his head and nodded at Semple and his men. Instantly they were on their feet, surrounding House. _Oh shit, they were on the Prince Regent's side._

"You wish to meet the rebels?" Semple asked.

"I want their autographs." House knew he could take down Blond Beauty if he had to, but the other two…

"We can take you to them. Don't fret yourself." Semple raised both of his hands. "No harm will come to you. But how did you find out about them? Military intelligence?"

"The military has no idea where they are," House answered.

"Alexander told them," said Peach, picking up another tankard.

"Did you suck his dick, too?" House gave Peach a glance. "Or was it the other way around?"

"I beg your pardon, sir!" Peach's head snapped back. "I'm a married man!"

"Okay, I'm going to guess he sucked your dick." House turned to Semple. "Do you mind if I go back upstairs to talk to the Princess? There's no chance I'm going to escape through the window."

##########################################################

"Semple's taking me to the rebels. Or to kill me. Hard to tell," House said with a shrug. Johanna was washing her face and hands using the china pitcher and bowl on the bureau. "If he kills me, I'll be out of your very short hair."

"He will _not _kill you, House. I will make it clear it is against my wishes. Besides, he is hardly what I would think of as a killer." Johanna smiled to herself. "Fancy, after all of these years."

"Before you take another annoying trip down Memory Lane, I need to speak to Motherhips and Burton. I don't think Simple—"

"Semple."

"Knows they're with us."

House washed his hands in the bowl, wishing there was some sort of sterile soap handy. "Wait here." He located the apothecary case and rummaged in it. "Back in a flash!"

As House crossed the balcony, he saw Semple and his men watching him. He flashed them a luminous grin and crossed to his compatriots' room.

"Are you decent?"

"Does it matter?" came the answer.

"No," House said, swinging open the door. He was disappointed to find Burton thumbing through a book, and Motherhips darning a stocking. "Gee, I thought you guys only knew how to have sex. And horses. Or both."

Burton looked up from his book. "What can we do for you?" There were scratches on his face from the bushes they'd ridden through. The dressing on Motherhips's ear had bled through. House bent down to examine it.

"It's clean, no signs of infection," he noted. "The shot grazed your antheletical fold and the upper helix." He removed the dressing and replaced it with a clean bandage he had brought with him. "You're lucky your battle scar won't be discernible from six inches away."

Motherhips looked at him through long lashes, but kept silent. House knew he was thinking _unlike yours_. No one would have even noticed House if it wasn't for his damn limp. House shook six eth tablets out of his bottle and put them in Motherhips's hand. Motherhips swallowed one immediately. "Thank you!"

"There are three men downstairs waiting for me. To them, you're her Highness's ladies maid and equerry. If anyone asks, I forced you to come with me, understand?"

"But House—" Burton started.

"No arguments. I'm—I'm glad for your help. But I don't want to be responsible for your deaths. There are three men downstairs who claim they are going to take me to the rebels. I might not come back."

"Then we'll go with you!" Motherhips exclaimed.

"The hell you will! You'll stay with Johanna. With any luck, the innkeeper's dispatched someone to find her an actual dress instead of that insane angel costume she's got on. Remember, you're her servants, I forced you here against your will, and you tell her to tell them the same thing. Maybe if I'm dead it's for the best."

Before they could stop him, House left and went to back to where Johanna waited. "Wish me luck. I'd ask you to say 'break a leg' but I'm partial to the one working leg I have."

"Oh, House, please don't say anything to make them angry!" Johanna stood up and threw her arms around him, then drew back and looked into his eyes. "Although you're not capable of that, are you?"

"I'll mind my manners." Trying not to be distracted by her closeness, he explained what he had told Motherhips and Burton. He nuzzled the side of her head, wondering if this would be the last time. A stab of pain went through him, but it wasn't from his leg.

"God, I hope the next time I see you, you're in a dress," he said, kissed her lightly on the lips and limped out before he could change his mind.


	74. Chapter 74

House felt disoriented by the events of the past day or so. He was surprised to see that it was late afternoon, and the sun was still high in the blue sky. Outside the tavern House looked around at the shops and houses, hugging the apothecary case to himself. People were walking up and down the road, none of them giving him a second look. He could faintly hear chickens. In front of him was the dirt road where Johanna had collapsed. There was still a faint imprint in the dirt from where her costume wings had been. House looked down at the imprint, and made a decision.

Semple and his men were heading toward where their horses were hitched. House stepped in front of Semple, facing him. The three men, in their black clothes and black tricorn hats, looked like three posters for "Amadeus." Actually, the black outfits looked a little silly in broad daylight.

"I want to make a deal with you," House said. Thank God Semple didn't know how hard it was for House to say this.

Semple turned toward him. "But you don't have any cards." He smiled, showing a set of perfect white teeth. House hated his guts.

"If you're with the rebels, you can't turn me in for the reward without getting caught yourself. If you're the authorities, I would have been out of here in irons as soon as you saw me in bed with her Highness," House mused, leaning on his cane. "You don't want _me_ for any reason, Milord. You want Johanna. She's going to be the Queen, isn't she?"

"Yes, once we have overthrown the Prince Regent."

"Then there's no point in my going to the rebel camp with you. What would I do, say hello?" What House really wanted to say was that watching Johanna and her ex-fiancé together would be unbearable. After everything she and House had been through, to see her with this preening, pretty moron…his stomach hurt.

Semple glanced at his men, then back at House. "What are you getting at?"

"I want a carriage and supplies, and for you to let me get out of here. I'm going where they're keeping Mad King William." House watched Semple carefully. Blond Beauty was considering the angles.

"But why should you want to do that?" Semple asked. "The king is mad."

"Because I'm a doctor," House replied. "I solve puzzles, and whatever is ailing the king is a puzzle to me. I need a puzzle right now."

"It will be of no use. He's out of his head, has been for years. His Majesty is not fit to rule."

"Maybe not, but I need to know _why_ he's out of his head. Trust me, you don't have to ever see me again. Give me a carriage, supplies, guns, ammunition, and a map to the madhouse. I'll be gone as soon as it's dark. Driving the carriage myself means that there's less chance that people will notice I'm a cripple." House drew a ragged sigh. "If I'm caught, I'm caught, but now Johanna doesn't have to go back to the palace."

"You're a strange man."

"Tell me about it—no, don't tell me about," House added quickly, seeing as Semple was about to tell him about it. He had to stop using slang during conversations like this one. "Take her servants with her. They're loyal, and they know when to keep their mouths closed."

"I see no objection to what you ask," said Semple. "What do you think, John?"

The man on his left stared at House for a long time. "It is better if he is not with us, milord," the man said. "Captain de la Fontaine is a wanted man. He cannot hide the fact that he is lame."

_Yeah, I'm lame_, House thought, his stomach hurting even more.

"Then it's settled. We'll provide you with a carriage, horses, and the other items you asked for. I shall tell the innkeeper to let you go after darkness has fallen."

House looked up at the sky. "I'll wait in the stable until then." He wanted to vomit. He would probably never see Johanna again, and his last words to her had been a joke. But if he went back in and told her, there'd be all sorts of mess to contend with. He did not want mess.

Darkness could not come fast enough.


	75. Chapter 75

_Summary: angst fest. Please review! I'm starting to get lonely._

House spent some of the time he waited counting out how many eth cakes he had in the apothecary case, not including the ones he had stowed in every pocket in his coat, waistcoat, breeches, and two down his left boot. Not all the way down; that would be disgusting. Then he unlocked and opened another, larger drawer and counted out how much gold he had. It still reeked of Prince Louis's close stool. _I need a money launderer_, he thought. Had the Prince Regent discovered the theft of the gold? House smiled, remembering that he had replaced what he stole with lead type from a printing press he had discovered in one of the palace outbuildings, covering the type with a layer of gold coins. Presumably at one time there had been a palace newsletter. Lead weighed the same as gold. At the time it amused House to think of what he was doing as reverse alchemy: turning gold into lead. It weighed a ton, making the apothecary bag that much heavier.

He swallowed three more eth tablets watching the ostler load the carriage for him. To distract himself, he thought about King William. Sudden onset auditory hallucinations…or were they visual? How could he take a history when there was no one to talk to? He thought back over the conversations he'd had with Johanna, Motherhips, and Bertha, the Queen Mother.

Shit, he missed Bertha. With a pang he realized she would have dragged him back upstairs to face Johanna and Semple. The old bat had decided House and Johanna were supposed to be together, brooking no argument. But how could they be, when he didn't know how long he was going to be in this world, wherever it was, Semple had entered the picture, House didn't know how he felt, and most important, he couldn't stop grieving over the loss of Wilson.

"Jesus, Wilson, if you could see me now," House said with a low chuckle. "Sitting in a stable wearing breeches, for God's sake. And this stupid hat." He paused. "I _wish_ you could see me now."

Involuntarily, House paused, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

He snorted in contempt at himself. How many times had he wished he was out of here? Did that work? No.

He remembered Cuddy, sashaying down the hospital hallways in her tight don't-mess-with-me skirts and high heels. That night they kissed after her adoption fell through. It had meant so much at the time, it had pierced his hard carapace and left him longing and bewildered. But with time, longing had settled into something less meaningful. Maybe he had briefly felt a flicker of his youth in her familiar mouth. Whatever it was, it had faded. Yeah, Cuddy's hooking up with Lucas had upset him. But it was really his pride that was hurt more than his heart. Woman hadn't had a relationship in years, House was supposed to be the man who scaled the castle walls and—

Oh, shit, he was thinking in palace metaphors. By-product of being here so long. House missed everyone who had worked with him. But he did not think about them much. Just an occasional wondering if Foreman had taken over the diagnostics department, how was Thirteen's health, and how Motherhips and Burton would have probably raped Chase the minute they got a look at him. Now _that_ would be something to see.

But it always came back to Wilson.

And now, there was nobody. On the bright side, he thought bitterly, he could stop trying to work out how he felt for Johanna.

_Self-pity is for girls, Greg, man up and get your sorry ass in gear. _Thanks, Dad, for that excellent life advice.

House picked up a handful of straw and let it fall to the floor in a dry trickle of stems. Soon he'd have a case—of sorts—to do what it always did, give his mind something to do. Until then, enough drugs could keep his feelings at bay.

"Hey, kid!" House shouted at the ostler. "I want you to hitch up the two black horses!" If he couldn't have the people, he could have the horses.

The ostler nodded. When it was time, Storm and Smoke were hitched to the brown carriage, one that had seen better days. That was good, it wouldn't stand out.

The sun had set when Semple's man, John, walked into the stable.

"You can go soon," he said, and handed House a map. "The madhouse is only about a night and a day away. You'll never get in."

"I'll get in," House said, taking the map. "Did they put in everything I asked for?"

"Yes. Her Highness insisted your sword be put in the carriage as well." John shrugged. "You'll probably be in need of it. A good night to you, sir. I would wait a bit more before you set out. When it's completely dark."

"Thanks." House watched the man walk away.

Finally the time came. It was almost pitch dark, the only light being from the windows of the inn and the carriage lamps. The ostler led the horses and carriage through the carriage yard out onto the road.

"I'm going to need some help getting up to the driver's seat," House said over his shoulder to the ostler, looking up at it. "Don't worry, I'm a big tipper—"

A hand clapped over his mouth from behind. At the same time, his hat was snatched off, and he was violently pushed into the carriage, landing on the floor. His cane clattered after him. The door slammed shut, and as House got up to a kneeling position, the carriage moved forward. House tried the carriage door, but it was locked. _Oh, shit, he was being taken to the Prince Regent, Semple had lied to him-_

"Hey!" he yelled up at the carriage roof. "Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

A curtain over the back side of the carriage seat moved.

"The exact thing you think I'm doing," said Johanna. Her brown eyes gleamed, a silly smile on her face.

"Johanna? What the fuck? Who's—"

Johanna pushed aside the curtain to reveal Motherhips, grinning.

"_Burton_ is, of course. Why do you think we needed your hat?"

House was, for once, at a complete loss. He had never taken a good look at the ostler—he had barely paid attention to the carriage being loaded—

A surge of euphoria swept through him. Slowly, he leaned up, and pulled Johanna's head to his, and kissed her. "You crazy bitch," he murmured.

"It takes one to know one."

House pulled back and looked at her.

"You're wearing a dress," he observed. "And Motherhips, you're dressed like a _man_."

"One needs a change from time to time," Motherhips said.

"From the smell of it, you've both had a bath." House leaned back against the seat, still on the floor. "Now I can get a decent family history."


	76. Chapter 76

"Okay, people, what do we know about King William?" House asked. "Were there any signs of anything wrong—_any_ change of behavior—before he was thirty years old? Go!"

"None that I can call to mind," Johanna shook her head. She had settled in next to House, facing Motherhips. Outside, the only light was from the carriage lamps as the horses trotted along in the night. House absently played with Johanna's fingers. Her hand was almost as large as his, the fingers tapered.

"I agree with her Highness," Motherhips added.

House abruptly banged on the roof of the carriage. "Burton!"

"Burton wasn't a house servant—" Motherhips said.

"That's not why I'm doing this. Burton!"

"Yes, sir?" came Burton's voice.

"Turn this carriage and head due east."

"Yes, sir."

House took the map out of his pocket. "This map would lead me straight into the capital of Rutgers. I'd be caught as soon as I reached the city limits. Good for Semple, not so good for me."

"Semple gave you a spurious map?" Johanna's brown eyes widened. "But why?"

"For one thing, I know where the rebels are based. For another, you. He probably didn't like seeing you for the first time in years without any clothes on. Or maybe he did."

"I don't believe it," Johanna said, withdrawing her hand.

"You look good with your clothes off."

"You know that's not what I mean!"

"Doesn't matter," House said easily. "We have sudden auditory hallucinations—or delusions —of a violent nature, alternating with bouts of despair and more hallucinations," House mused. "Johanna, have you ever heard of any insanity in your family? Anything, a stray remark, a casual reference, something they didn't want you to hear—"

"No."

House rubbed his hands together. "Alternating psychotic episodes, but not mania and not depression. So we can rule out bipolar disorder. A mood disorder with psychosis is ruled out because he demonstrated psychosis whether or not he was depressed. It can't be delusional disorder, that doesn't present as violently. Schizophrenia is a possibility, since that often manifests in the patient's mid-20s. It could be due to a medical condition, but without seeing crazy King William, I can't diagnose him. Come on, give me something!"

Motherhips and Johanna simply looked at him. House bit his lip in frustration. "Okay. Any history of headaches?"

"I don't recall any," Johanna said, thinking hard. "It was as if—one day he was one person, the next day he was another."

"Violent blow to the head? A hunting accident?"

"Not that I ever heard about."

"Was he a heavy drinker? It could be alcohol-induced psychotic disorder."

"No. But I took my meals in my room."

House leaned back. "You're a _big_ help." He folded his arms. "Is there anything you DO remember?"

Johanna gave him an annoyed look. "I've told you everything I _can _remember, House. As I said, I was kept away from him." She frowned. "When they took him away, I was watching from my window. He was fighting the men carrying him, screaming that he was not mad, to let him go. My parents stood on the steps and watched him being loaded into the doctor's carriage. My mother was crying." She thought for a moment. "I saw his face looking up at me. I don't think he saw me, exactly, but he was looking in my direction. I don't know what madmen are supposed to look like, but he did not look mad. Desperate, yes, but still like himself." Johanna shrugged. "But as I said, I was a child. It is quite likely that I was wrong."

_He looked like himself_. House wasn't sure if that meant anything, but he filed it for future reference.

"Next question," he said. "Why did you do such an _incredibly_ stupid thing? You might have thought it was brave, or heroic, or romantic, but it's stupid. It was supposed to be me, alone. I knew the map was a piece of shit. I was heading for the ocean."

"But House, we didn't want it to be only you—" Johanna said, but House cut her off.

"Yes, now it's _four_ of us. I was trying to save you from Louis, Johanna, and leaving you with Blond Beauty would have worked out perfectly. But no, you had to try to—save me—or whatever it was you thought you were doing, and now we've got a target on our backs. Not only from the military, but from Semple and his men. Do you think he's going to take this lying down?"

Motherhips had been listening silently, a first. House glanced at him.

"Don't you have something witty to say right now?" House snapped.

"Sorry to disappoint you, House." Motherhips shrugged. "This is between you and her Highness. Burton and I—well, we couldn't leave her Highness, could we?" He paused. "And you. Don't forget, you are also the procurer of my eth cakes as well as your own." Anxiety crossed his face. "How many do you have?"

"Moderation in all things, Mom-Ass," House said, popping two tablets in his mouth and swallowing.


	77. Chapter 77

They drove through the night, stopping occasionally to give the horses a rest. Motherhips climbed up to the driver's seat to take over for Burton after the first four hours. Burton crumpled, done in, on the carriage seat across from House and Johanna. She slept against House's shoulder.

Tired but awake, he smelled her thick brown hair. It was now almost to her shoulders. Tentatively, House lifted his hand and twirled a thin strand around his finger, careful not to disturb her. Burton was out cold on the other side, his hat—actually, House's hat-on the leather seat beside him.

House let go of her hair. He pondered what it would mean if he never did leave here. He'd always assumed, in the back of his mind, that _something_ would happen. Some magic door would open or he'd wake up or…

But what if he was wrong? What if this was it?

What place could he possibly have in this society? He was more intelligent than anyone here. But that had always been the case. But in New Jersey they knew what a television was.

The most likely scenario was that he would be killed. If not by the king's soldiers, then the local thugs, or perhaps by Semple.

House contemplated all of this, as Johanna and Burton slept. If not at peace, at least he wasn't drowning in grief. That was a thing to be grateful for.

#############################################################

The sky was lightening, black trees against soft pink and gray sky.

"House!" Motherhips called down. "I think you should see this!"

Like the others, House had fallen asleep. He sat up and dislodged Johanna, who was draped across him like a blanket. Burton snored on.

The carriage rolled to a stop. House pushed Johanna aside as she was waking up, and climbed out of the carriage.

Up a short incline was a small, abandoned house. It was wooden, barely over one story. A large pitched roof had what looked like smoke vents on top, or they might have been some antique version of sky lights. The building looked like it could fall down any minute. Perfect.

"Welcome to Manderley!" House exclaimed, climbing back into the carriage.

"Is it morning yet?" Johanna's eyes were barely open. Burton stretched and yawned.

"Good morning, all," he said. "Where is Quincy?"

"Up on the box. Come on, we've found home sweet home for a few hours."

Motherhips and Burton led the horses and carriage to the vacant building. Some boards on the front and sides had dislodged and were suspended at odd angles. There was no handle on the door, which hung open. House limped behind them, holding hands with Johanna.

"We can hide until it's dark again," House said. "I hope Simple packed the stuff I asked for."

"Semple," said Johanna quietly. "A filthy, unoccupied house filled with muck and who knows what else? Why can't we stay at an inn?"

"You know damn well why." House glared at her. "You want to go back to the palace? You're the only one of us who won't get killed—yet."

Johanna stood silent, then opened and closed her mouth. She glanced around the room and what was left of its furnishings. A broken bed, an old stove, and a large cabinet that had slid off the wall and lay on its side on the ground. The floor was covered with soil, leaves and whatever else could blow in the open door.

After a moment, she spoke. "I—I'm wearing a dress made of dimity!"

"Don't know what it is, don't care." Her brown eyes reminded him of how much he wanted a cup of coffee. There was a large dent on the side of her face from sleeping on his jacket. They stood for a moment, looking at each other, then House leaned forward and kissed her dented cheek softly.

"The shit I put myself through for you," he muttered, not breaking her gaze.

"House!"

"What?" House turned, irritated, at Burton's voice.

"There's part of a stable around the side. I've put the carriage in there and we're tending to the horses. There's even an old curry comb. The boys will be wanting a good grooming." Burton grinned. "If the hay isn't moldy they can have some of that, in any event, there's a goodly amount of feed we've brought with us. Eldridge is an excellent learner when it comes to horses."

"Among other things," House said under his breath to Johanna. Louder, he said, "See what other kind of feed there is and get us breakfast. There's a stove in here. Her Highness is hungry."

"Very well." Burton bowed slightly to Johanna, and went back to the house.

"Boy, that 'her Highness' thing is really handy," House observed.

###############################################################

They laid blankets on the floor to sleep on, and each one had a loaded pistol. The sun shone through the one window. But as they had traveled all night, it didn't stop anyone from sleeping.

"House…" Johanna whispered, lying next to him. He opened one eye.

"What?"

Her hand reached his groin, and gently squeezed. Through the fog of fatigue, he felt his libido waking up.

"There's something I've always wanted to try." Her voice was virtually inaudible.

"We can't do anything without our bestest pals watching us. Not that Burton would mind."

"No, not in here." Johanna stood. "Come on." She helped him up.

As quietly as possible, they stepped around Motherhips and Burton, who lay on their stomachs, Burton's arm over his partner. Outside, Johanna jerked her head toward the half-ruined stable.

"You don't want a roll in _this_ hay, do you?"

"Shhh! No, that's not it at all. I've always wanted to try…" Her cheeks turned pink, a deep blush coming up her neck. "I've always wanted to…" She crossed her arms tightly. "I mean…they call it _coitus a cheval._" Johanna gave him a sideways look, waiting for his reaction.

"You know I can't ride a horse." House started back inside.

"No! Storm is tied up, it will be perfectly safe. Think of it as making love on a divan." She drew closer, and swept his face with her lips, her eyes half-closed. "It could be ever so pleasurable…you and I on such a big, powerful animal. You _know_ it would." Only her face was touching his, her soft breath brushing his cheeks.

"Johanna, you're out of your mind." His mouth was saying one thing, his groin another. Mild horniness was rapidly progressing into something much more vigorous.  
"How do we do it without getting fatally injured?"

Johanna had evidently given this a great deal of thought. "I'll boost you up, you undo your breeches, and I'll do the rest. Remember, back at the palace, when we sat on the chair? I do."

House eyed the horse warily. "The chair wasn't twice our size with a mind of its own."

"Storm knows how to behave, don't you?" She turned away from House and gently patted the horse's black neck. "You're a fine horse. You'll stay still." She smiled. Johanna turned back to House, taking his hands and wrapping his arms around her. He felt her broad back, her dress made of dimity—whatever the hell that was—the movement of her body as she pressed against him. _Goddamn,_ how did men survive getting erections in these breeches?

"Hang on!" Johanna took a large old wooden bucket that had been used to feed the horses, and turned it upside down. "Go ahead, get on this and I'll boost you up."

"You're out of your mind." With Johanna's help, he climbed up onto the bucket, and then put his left foot in her interlaced fingers.

"Up you go!" She boosted him up, and he threw his right leg over the horse's back. _Jesus, that hurt_! The horse shifted slightly. House had visions of landing into a large pile of dung on the stable floor, but he stayed on.

"My turn." She slid the bucket closer to Storm's broad shoulders, and easily jumped up, sitting backwards, facing House. Johanna sat astride the horse as if she had been riding her entire life. Which she probably had.

"Let me help you with your breeches. Sit still."

She slid forward and put her legs over his, in effect holding him on their mount. House didn't honestly feel like having sex. The swaying horse was too distracting, as was the prospect of injury. Johanna's eyes gleamed, the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she diligently undid the buttons of his breeches.

"Oh," she said at the sight of his less-than-rampant organ. "Is something wrong?"

"Getting stomped to death by Flicka here is not on my to-do list."

Johanna grinned. "Now that is something I thought I would never see. The almighty House is _afraid_."

"Blow me," he snapped, because it was true.

"As you wish." She bent over and took his penis into her mouth. The horse shifted again, but her legs pressed his against the horse's flanks. Damn, she was strong! He felt his flaccid dick harden under her ministrations. Her tongue licked around it, teasing the top, and despite his fear, little shudders of desire went through him. And then she took all of him into her mouth and throat, sucking hard.

"Oh, my _God_," he breathed, his hands braced behind him on the horse's smooth back. This _was_ pretty damn kinky, actually. He couldn't reciprocate or he would lose his balance. If only he could take his breeches off all the way, but that wasn't possible either.

In fact, he enjoyed the feeling of being virtually helpless. His thigh protested at the pressure of her leg over his, but at the same time, she was holding him on their steed.

"What—what can I do for you, Johanna?" he gasped when she let him pop out of her mouth. He felt the sudden cool air on his cock.

"I'll show you." She gathered her skirts and pulled them up, rolling the fabric as she did so, until her legs and groin were exposed. Gracefully, she leaned back against Storm's shoulders and neck, reaching above her head to clutch his mane.

"Go ahead, get inside me. Put your arms around me, and I'll ease you forward. Don't worry, House, I'll keep us both safe."

House couldn't believe he was doing this—he wasn't some retarded teenager who thought he could live forever. But he did as he was told, his heart pounding. He slowly crawled up her body, and guided his dick inside of her. Her muscles clamped around it, giving him a shiver of pleasure. Her legs still gripped his.

"I said, put your arms around me," she murmured. "Let me do this, House."

The horse moved again, its tail switching against their left legs.

House nervously put his arms around her again. Johanna was completely calm, smiling, moving her pelvis until she was at the right angle to gently move up and down. Oh, yes, this was starting to feel very good, as long as he didn't look down—

There was a slight movement, and Storm started walking forward. Johanna froze beneath House.

"He's gotten loose," she said quietly so as not to spook the horse. "Don't move."

"But—"

"He's only walking, House." She licked her lips. "Well…it feels quite nice, doesn't it?" She rocked her hips against House in the same rhythm as the animal's gait. The sensation was extremely arousing; in fact, he was getting hotter by the minute. Johanna lifted her head and kissed him, her pink lips soft and full. He opened his mouth and let her tongue explore, tickling his upper palate, which only made his lust more intense.

The horse wandered out of the stable into the sunshine. The sky was bright blue, with small white clouds. Johanna let out a short gasp as their bodies moved in perfect synchronization with Storm's walk. It felt amazing, rocking on top of this huge equine, House and Johanna's motions flowing along with the black horse. She obviously felt no fear at all, slowly pumping her hips in sync with the horse. It was as if House was riding the horse and Johanna at the same time. _A human saddle_, he thought. He didn't have to do anything, it was true. Just hold onto Johanna, and kiss her, the combined motions of their groins and the horse like slow sexual music. His sweat dripped on Johanna's upper lip and she licked it into her mouth.

House wanted it to never end. How could he have been scared of doing this? She felt so right underneath him, their bodies made for each other, as he felt the sun on his back, listened to the near-silence of the breeze swishing through the long grass.

Johanna squirmed, pumping faster, almost in counterpoint to Storm's walking. House felt her stiffening, jerking, watched her eyes squeeze shut, her skin luminous in the sun, her brown eyebrows contrasting against her pale skin. She made no sound.

His own orgasm came as a surprise: suddenly he was swept up in sensation and conscious thought was impossible. Pleasure with a flicker of pain pumped through his body and through his cock, his ass and balls tightened; as he came, he buried his face in Johanna's neck with a long, low moan.


	78. Chapter 78

There was no way around it. House had to lie flat, his stomach on Storm's back as Johanna led the horse through the field and back to the stable. Fortunately, from his perch atop Storm, House could see the roof of the abandoned house they had camped in. He was softly singing a rockabilly song by the Reverend Horton Heat.

_Well… I got a sweet baby who's six foot tall  
She's a full grown woman who's got it all  
Big little baby  
She's as cute as she can be  
But she's taller than me  
Big big big little baby _

"I beg your pardon?" Johanna stopped walking. "I am NOT taller than you are!"

"Artistic license," House replied. "I worship at the Reverend Horton Heat's shrine. I pity the fool who hasn't heard 'Big Red Rocket of Love.'"

"Are you saying that I'm too—too large?"

"Quite the opposite, your Highness."

"The song sounds extremely vulgar," Johanna, turning and jerking Storm's lead line. House could tell she was smiling.

He resumed.

_Her heart is as big as her feet are long  
But she's not afraid to fight someone who does me wrong  
She's sure as pretty as a girl can be  
But when she's wearin' high heels she's six foot three_

Big little baby, big little baby  
She's as cute as she can be But she's tall as a tree  
Big little baby  


Under ordinary circumstances he would be pissed that he was laying on a horse's back, holding on the black mane for dear life. But these were anything but ordinary circumstances. He smiled to himself. Dr. Gregory House, world-famous diagnostician, the man who struck fear into the hearts of all who worked for him, in a ridiculous position that would even make Foreman lose his shit.

The sunlight picked up the chestnut highlights in Johanna's hair. The faded green and brown dimity dress was tight across the shoulders. If he could, House would run his hands across her back, underneath the dress, and feel her muscular back. Then reach around and stroke her small breasts with their jutting nipples…oh, God, he was getting an erection. And Storm's ambling motion didn't help.

"House! Johanna! Where have you been?" Burton ran toward them from the house. "We've been out of our minds with worry! The horse _gone_, the two of you _gone,_ we thought you'd—"

Motherhips came up behind him. "And I'm all out of eth cakes! Where am I supposed to get more of them, might I ask?"

"That makes two of us, Mom-Ass, I'm almost out." Burton and his partner helped House down off the horse. Burton stared unabashedly at House's bulging crotch until Motherhips gave him a hard shove.

"Eldridge, mind your manners!"

"Oh, my," Burton sighed softly. House adjusted his breeches. Now that he was on solid ground, his leg burned.

"Where's my cane?" he demanded.

"Over here!" Johanna moved quickly to where Storm had been tied up and grabbed the cane from where it had been propped up against a post.

"Thanks." House leaned on it heavily, searching with his other hand for eth cakes. He found two in his vest pocket, and dry-swallowed them. Motherhips stared at him hungrily, so House fished out another, broke it in half, and gave the half-cake to the man.

"That's all?" Motherhips said in disappointment, and then swallowed it.

"I'm in pain. I need it more than you do. Having a girlfriend doesn't take care of a gouged-out thigh muscle."

He froze.

He had used the g-word.

"Girl friend?" Johanna asked, puzzled.

"A girl. Who's a friend. Most of the time." House shrugged. "I have dozens of them. Girls like me."

"Will you gentlemen excuse us?" Johanna said to Burton and Motherhips. Quickly they went back to the house, loudly making small talk. Johanna turned back to House, annoyed.

"You're doing it again, House."

"Doing what?"

"Do you remember, back at the palace, shortly after we met, you said you felt as if I was _yours?_ Since that time, to and fro, to and fro," she used her left hand to demonstrate, "you swing like a clock pendulum between behaving as if I belong to you and being absolutely bestial. I can guess the meaning of the term 'girlfriend'." Johanna put her hands on her hips. "I do not wish to be—involved—with a pendulum. Either you want me or you _don't_. Semple _does_."

House stood, silent for several minutes. "Hooray for Semple." He limped back to the house, so they could start packing for the last lap of their trip: the madhouse.


	79. Chapter 79

As the fragrance in the air turned salty, the ocean could be heard in the far distance. Wilderness had steadily given way to pine trees, sand mixing with the soil. Storm and Smoke remained sure-footed, the carriage wheels making crunching sounds as they rolled along in the dark. House could feel they were traveling up a steep hill, possibly a mountain. Burton, as it turned out, had grown up nearby before he went into service. He plotted a course that avoided all of the usual roads.

House had no doubt that Semple and his men were looking for them, as well as the militia. But screw it; the important thing was to see the "mad" king.

"House! Your Highness!" Burton yelled down as the carriage came to a stop.

Along with Motherhips, they climbed out of the carriage. House's leg stung from long sitting.

As he had thought, they were atop a steep hill. Below them, on the edge of the ocean, was an enormous building, three stories high, looming in the darkness. The water crashed along the northwest side of what looked to be a high stone fence.

"There it is. Keddlestone Asylum." There was fear in Burton's voice.

Johanna let out a long breath. "My uncle is down there. I never thought I would see him again." She paused, clearing her throat. "It is not what one expected. It's quite charming. I do hope my uncle is well-treated."

"Who owned it before it was converted into a loony bin?" House asked.

"It once belonged to Sir Marmaduke Fellation Gros Chien Phillips," Burton answered, obviously not as beguiled by the place as Johanna. "He sold it to Dr. Robert Harville, an expert on lunacy. Dr. Harville converted it into a madhouse. There are paupers as well as private patients." Burton shuddered. "I came to manhood hearing about this terrible place. Parents threatened their children that they would be sent to Keddlestone if they did not behave."

"And did they?" House asked. "A purgative might have helped quiet the wee ones."

"House!" Johanna snapped.

"So, how do we get there, _without_ pretending to be lunatics? Well, Motherhips is already a lunatic—"

"I beg your pardon?" Motherhips said.

"Keddlestone village is roughly four miles from the asylum," Burton continued.

House thought for a moment. "Most of the village must work there."

"If I might suggest it, House, there are some—unscrupulous men there, insurance underwriters."

"Some things never change. What does that have to do with the asylum?"

"There's a coffee house in one of the lower neighborhoods of the village where the underwriters meet. One of them might convert your gold into silver coins, which would help make the currency less conspicuous. Then one of the villagers might be persuaded to give you the information you need."

"Give _you_. You forget I'm a marked man," House said sardonically, lifting his cane. "Besides, you and Mom-Ass have mad skills at hanging with the wrong posse."

"I beg your pardon?" Motherhips repeated.

"Never mind. Burton, get us to the village by the scenic route—"

"It's too dark to see anything, House."

With an exasperated sigh, House allowed Motherhips to help him back into the carriage.

######################################################

The village of Keddlestone was unlike most of the villages they had passed. Not only was an original stone house village, but also more houses had been built upon what was once part of the estate of Keddlestone Asylum. House crouched down in the carriage so as not to be seen, watching the scenery go by. Villagers didn't give the battered old vehicle a second look.

There was the public house, the Keddlestone Arms; a millinery store, the Keddlestone Apothecary—

"Stop the carriage!" House yelled upwards.

Burton reined in the horses. Motherhips smiled at House, addict to addict.

"Would you like me to purchase more eth cakes?" Motherhips asked, his smile growing wider.

"Hell yeah." House dug in the apothecary case and pulled out some coins. Johanna stopped him when he dug out gold coins, putting her hand on his.

"House, don't be a fool. Gold would arouse suspicion."

"It would also buy a buttload of eth."

Motherhips reached for the gold, but Johanna pinned House's hand on the seat. Goddamn, he'd forgotten how tough she was. "Burton will take the gold to the underwriters and get it changed to silver," she said, her voice dangerous. "_Then_ you can buy your precious drug. I will _not_ have all of us captured because of _your_ obsession."

House relaxed his hold on the gold under the pressure of her hand, and she snatched it away. "Mom-Ass, get what you can, before Princess Killjoy here breaks my arm. And more thing—buy me a guitar."

############################################################

House and Johanna were forced to wait in the carriage for what seemed like hours. The tension between them was palpable. She plopped herself into the seat opposite him, and looked out of the window, pretending to find the bushes and trees absolutely fascinating. All of his inquiries about insanity in the family were met with "I don't remember" and "No." He knew Johanna was telling the truth.

"I wish Grandmother was here," she said in frustration. "She would know so much more about all of this than I do."

House thought back to what Bertha hold told him. He had "gone mad" at thirty, unmarried and apparently promiscuous, with a "cheerful" nature. That could all mean something or nothing at all. A thought struck him.

"Johanna, you've been with a lot of men, haven't you?"

She regarded him suspiciously. "Why do you to talk about that? I'm certain you have been with many women."

"My sexual adventures have nothing to do with this. So, have any of your suitors given you the pox?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You've never had a bout of _lues venera_? French pox? Bad leg?" He gave her a broad wink. "Not even a little itching?"

"NO!" Johanna jerked backwards away from him. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"

Suddenly, a thought struck House: Johanna had spoken French to suggest having sex on a horse. She knew what French pox was. That had to mean that France was out there somewhere.

Before House could ask, Motherhips knocked on the door. He looked like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary.

House opened the door. "Where were you? Where's my eth?"

Motherhips, grinning, handed in two large bottles of eth, and then several bags of silver coins. Burton appeared behind him, putting his hands on Motherhips's shoulders.

"My darling heart is so clever," Burton said. "We won't have any difficulty getting into Keddlestone."

Motherhips nuzzled his partner's neck. "Don't give me all of the credit. You did a most credible job of being my enraged brother!" He turned his attention to House. "As you well know, I have the gift of attracting gentlemen, no matter what their preference. I got into a game of piquet with a man who is a guard at Keddlestone. I suspected he was a Molly. After a few games, I suggested we go somewhere we could be alone and explore forbidden delights. There was a backroom at the coffee house, and within twenty minutes, Burton burst in, claiming to be my brother!"

"The man nearly had a fit," Burton said with a laugh. "I threatened to go to the police. You should have seen him!"

"'_Oh, please, I have a wife and family, please, __please__, anything you want_—'" Motherhips imitated their victim, eyes wide, hands wringing.

"I made him promise to get us into Keddlestone," Burton interrupted. "Not only entrance, but to see King William. He nearly had another fit. Nonetheless, a repeated threat to go to the police worked wonders. Tonight after the sun sets. His name is Mudrick. He'll meet us at the old gatehouse by the entrance," Burton squeezed Motherhips's hand.

House stared at them, and then a slow smile creased his features. "You did a good job. If only I had known you two back at Princeton-Plainsboro. Imagine the chaos we could have created."


	80. Chapter 80

The Princess and The Peeved/DeCarlo 9/25/2010 13

"You have a stronger stomach than I do," House said to Motherhips when he saw Mudrick, their escort. His face was red with rosacea including alcoholic rhinophyma. His nose was thick, bright red with large blue veins across it. His face was deeply lined, his mouth droopy-lipped, like a trout's. Wisps of dirty hair escaped from under a dust-covered hat. He nervously paced outside the stone gatehouse.

"Hey there! You!" Motherhips called out the carriage window. When Mudrick saw them, his red face flushed even redder. Motherhips rewarded him with a wide, coquettish smile.

"My, you do look even more delectable in the daylight," Motherhips said in a loud voice.

"Hush! You gave me your word!" Mudrick clumped over to the carriage and looked up at Motherhips, eyes filled with alarm.

"Sorry, dear, I shall be discreet. Which way?"

"Down there." Mudrick pointed toward the entrance to Keddlestone. In the daylight, Keddlestone Asylum was a magnificent English Renaissance stone mansion, House estimated built about 1600 or thereabouts. Despite the stone carvings and Gothic pinnacles, despite the blue sky and green grass, the mansion emanated misery.

Johanna gasped. "This isn't a private—it's a public institution! What—why is my uncle in one of these places?"

House stared out at the grounds. "No health insurance." There were iron bars in the windows but no glass.

Burton flicked the horses and the coach rolled forward, Mudrick walking alongside.

Two huge stone statues flanked the massive doors. Carved below the left one was "Melancholy", below the right one, "Raving Madness." Both were male, with bald heads. "Raving Madness" was chained. House knew what to expect, but the foul smell emanating from the building made his eyes water. There were shouts and cries from inside.

Both he and Johanna had donned long wool cloaks, both gray, House to hide his cane, Johanna because it was the custom for well-bred ladies to go about in capes. Fortunately for both of them, Motherhips's taste in clothing had run to the extravagant.

Motherhips swung open the carriage door, hopped out and held out his arm for Johanna. She stepped down, and then Motherhips did the same for House. House tried to stand on his good leg and keep the cane out of sight.

Some men and women were tending to flowerbeds. By the semi-neatness of their appearance, House guessed they were employees.

House had smelled shit, rotting bodies, vomit and other effluvia many times, but the combined power of this stench was overwhelming. Johanna coughed behind her hand and glanced at House, her eyes wide. _Maybe we shouldn't do this_, they seemed to say. He leaned heavily on her, and Burton made certain to walk directly in front of House.

"Good afternoon, sir," said a medium-sized, well dressed man with an ill-fitting brown wig. "Branson Archibald, Steward, at your service. Might I inquire as to the nature of your visit? Mudrick was rather vague."

"I am Dr Gregory House. Lunacy is an area of particular interest to me. I want to see how your asylum takes care of its inhabitants. This is my lovely wife, Agnes, and my apprentices."

"Does it always smell like this?" Motherwell said, trying not to gag. Burton's eyes were also watering. He was pale with terror.

"What smell?" Archibald asked. "Dr. House, you brought your wife to this place?"

"Agnes has always wanted to see the crazy people, haven't you, precious?"

Johanna only nodded, holding her cloak in front of her nose and mouth.

"Please follow me, Dr. House, Mrs. House." Archibald swung the door open wide. "I do wish you had informed Dr. Harville that you were coming."

They stepped into what had once been an elegant entrance hall, with a vaulted ceiling. The walls had been whitewashed, and there were no carpets. Opposite the entrance doors was a wide staircase, with offices on either side of the bottom.

The noise was deafening. What had once been stately corridors were now large long spaces built out to contain cells with heavy wooden doors. Ornate iron grilles closed the corridors off from the central hall. The doors of the cells had small barred windows and thick locks. There were some men out in the corridor, in ragged clothes, chained to the walls by one ankle. Other men wandered aimlessly. All of them seemed to be yelling, shouting, or talking quietly to themselves. It was like being dropped straight into Hell.

One man on the right side saw them, and rushed to the grille, grabbing the bars.

"I will not remove it!" he screamed. "I will not remove it!"

Mudrick moved quickly to the grille, and with a thick leather crop, slapped the man's hands.

"Off the gate!" he shouted. "Get back unless you want more of the same!"

"Mudrick, tell Dr. Harville that he has guests," said Archibald. He turned back to his guests, clearly bewildered by their expressions.

"Keddlestone Asylum takes great pride in caring for the unfortunate insane. Would you ever believe that these men were paupers? Now they have food, clothing, medicine, and a place to sleep."

"Yeah, paradise," House muttered. He knew he had to keep his mouth shut no matter what.

"Unfortunately, they cannot appreciate the care they are given," Archibald said sadly. "They are far too mad, their brains are overtaxed."

"Sir!" another man, completely naked, shouted at them. "I demand to speak with you, sir!" Archibald ignored him.

"Where are the women?" asked Burton in a weak voice.

"We have another wing where the women are housed. One must use caution when caring for both male and female patients." He gave Burton a wink. "The only men they are allowed to see are the doctors, once a month. We don't want to have unpleasantness. It's a pity you didn't come on Sunday. That is when we allow the populace to see the lunatics. They have a marvelous time of it."

Mudrick returned, following a round, kindly-faced man who bore a remarkable resemblance to Ben Franklin, if Ben Franklin had a white beard.

"Ah, here is Dr. Harville," said Archibald. "Dr. Harville, Dr. Gregory House and his wife Agnes. Dr. House has an interest in the insane."

"I am pleased to meet you, Dr. House." Dr. Harville gave a small bow.

"Yeah," House said, looking past him down the corridor. "Nice place you've got here."

Dr. Harville looked slightly puzzled, and then his smile returned. "How do you deal with the incurables in your care, Dr. House?"

"I'm just a simple country doctor," House answered. "Croup, ague, gout, the usual. But I've only seen one insane asylum from the inside. It made me curious to see more."

Dr. Harville puffed his chest back, rocking slightly on his heels. "Then, my good doctor, you and your wife are about to behold the most up to date methods of relieving and calming violence of thought and action. These brutes—"he waved his hand towards the left-hand grille—"must be threatened, fettered and beaten. In this way, the maniac learns to fear. When he is thoroughly intimidated, the mind gives up its wild ideas and arrogance. It becomes meek and orderly. With this system, many lunatics are cured." He waved his hand to take in the whole of the room. "_These_ unfortunates are considered incurable. But I will strive, through the strongest measures available to me, to cure them. I am endeavoring to find a way to effect a complete cure."

_Death is the only complete cure for these poor bastards_, House thought, but he kept his face impassive and nodded.

Dr. Harville turned and bade them follow him to the left side of the room, where two attendants stood outside the grille. There was a gate inside of it. The doctor looked at Johanna. "Now, my dear, there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. The men who are unchained are completely harmless. Quite a few have virtually no minds left. They babble and chortle like babes."

"Dr. House, can we wait out here?" Burton asked shakily.

"If I can go in there, you can," Motherhips murmured to him reassuringly.

An attendant took out a large key ring with a number of large metal keys, selected one, opened the lock and swung the gate open inwards. Dr. Harville bowed and indicated that House and Johanna should go in first. Johanna clutched House's hand.

The other attendant came in with them, carrying a large truncheon.

"Stay back, you beasts!" he bellowed.

The men, some of whom had stepped forward, cowered back against the walls. Several sat on the floor, which was covered with straw, feces and dirt. They took no notice of the visitors. Two men stood against the wall, staring at nothing.

"Catatonics," House remarked as they walked by.

"Yes, how did you know?" asked Dr. Harville.

"Because they're being catatonic."

"Ha!"

A thin old man chained to the wall reached out and tugged at Johanna's cloak. Startled, she cried out, whereupon the attendant started hitting the man on the head and chest.

"Don't you put your paws on a woman!"

House grabbed the attendant's arm. House was about to reprimand him, and then remembered why they were there. "I—I think he's learned his lesson."

The old man, whimpering, pushed himself against the wall, putting his hands over his head.

"As you see, one's guard can never be relaxed," said Dr. Harville. "What do you think, Mrs. House? We have lunatics locked in most of these cells. If it pleases you, look through the bars and laugh at them. It throws them into a most entertaining rage."

"No thank you, Dr. Harville," Johanna said. Despite her death grip on House's hand, she was as impassive as a poker player.

"This is all very…remarkable," House said.

"I think I'm going to be ill," Burton moaned, hanging back by the gate.

"Then you'll never be a doctor," House snapped, glad to find an object to deflect his anger and disgust on. "If you can't stand waste and blood and suffering, if it bothers you that these men are being treated like animals, if it offends your aesthetics that patients are being tortured, then you don't have the stomach for the medical profession!"

Burton nodded, but did not leave his post by the gate. Motherhips had made a feeble attempt to follow the other three, but went back and stood next to his partner.

"That's the spirit, Dr. House!" Dr. Harville crowed. "We doctors are made of stronger stuff than most men."

"Thank you." House grinned sardonically at him. "If you will excuse me—" He leaned toward her and whispered into Johanna's ear:

"What does mad uncle William look like?"

"I don't—I was a child—he seemed very tall, and had a big brown beard."

Dr. Harville was waiting impatiently to continue bragging about his accomplishments. When House turned back, he continued on. "All year round we give nostrums. But this is the ideal weather for the true medicine we apply. It is far too cold in the winter for the doctors."

"What true medicine do you apply?" House's gaze wandered up and down the hall, looking at the patients' faces.

"We apply purging, emetics, and bloodletting. We also have a splendid invention, the Bath of Surprise. The patient walks, blindfolded, a door opens under him, and he plunges into icy water. It is a wonderful way to induce such terror that the patient's senses can be miraculously restored. I have seen the most violent animals reduced to mewling babes by this method. And of course, we use restraints—"

"How many of your patients have delusions of grandeur?" House interrupted. "How many think they are the king of Princeton-on-Sea?"

"Oh, my dear man, we have at least six of them! Mind you, it takes a certain amount of intellect to imagine yourself a monarch; many of these patients have virtually no intellect at all."

"Those patients interest me the most. Particularly if they're smarter than the others. I want to see them."

"Of course! We have two in this wing, and four in the other. Please follow me." Dr. Harville made his way through the patients, stopping at a large man whose matted, filthy hair was clearly blond.

"Good afternoon, your Majesty," Dr Harville said, with a chuckle. He glanced at House. "You have no idea the fun to be had when you put two 'kings' or more in the same room!"

"Good afternoon, doctor," said the blond man gravely. "Have we annexed the violet land?"

"Not yet, your Majesty." With a bow, Dr. Harville stepped away and jerked his head toward a cell nearby.

Trying not to limp was causing House's leg to cramp and spasm. He distracted himself by identifying the different kinds of sores and skin rashes on the inmates. Eczema, seborrheac dermatitis, pityriasis rosea, a blind man who looked to have Behcet's disease…

"Good afternoon, your Majesty!" Harville said through the iron-barred window on the door. There was no sound. Harville stepped back.

"Have a look, Dr. House."

House looked in. The cell was as dirty as the rest of place, with a pile of straw on the floor for bedding. An olive-skinned toothless man was chained to one wall by both feet. When he saw House, he let fly with a furious diatribe of obscenities.

"Darling, you'll enjoy this one," House said, guiding Johanna to the window. She winced as the volume increased, but gave House a barely perceptible shake of the head.

"We'd like to see the crazies on the other side, Harville."

"Of course."

They made their way to the iron grille, where Burton and Motherhips were still standing. Motherhips had his arm linked through Burton's in an attempt to be comforting.

"Other side, kiddies," House said "Strap on a pair—or two."

The same procedure was repeated at the opposite gate. There were fewer patients in the outer corridor, and several were in straight-jackets. One man howled ceaselessly. Another man said, "Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!"

Two more 'kings' were approached and found wanting. One was younger than Johanna; another was too old.

"Your Majesty?" Harville said into the fourth cell window.

"What?" came the faint voice. House's ears pricked up.

"What is your name?" House said loudly.

"His Majesty King William of Princeton-on-Sea," said the voice. House grew excited; this voice had the same timbre as Johanna's.

"Dearest, do have a look. Where else can you see so much royalty in one day?"

Johanna looked through the iron bars. Her eyes widened. Before she could speak, House pushed her out of the way and looked.

The man was in a straightjacket, but it was possible to see that he was tall, emaciated, but with thick bones and large feet. Feet like his niece. His dark brown hair was heavily streaked with gray, and fell below his shoulders. Thick cords were tied around his ankles and the back of the straitjacket and fastened to the wall. The man could move around a few feet but no more.

"What happened to his beard?" Johanna asked Dr. Harville.

"His beard? How did—"

"My wife was asking me how you manage to shave the male crazies without getting injured."

"Aw! We put them in the restraining chair. It has straps in two places at the abdomen, to keep the patient sitting straight. Two straps for each leg, straps for the lower and upper arms, a strap for the neck, and a strap for the lower face. It induces docility. We take off the facial strap to barber the men."

"Agnes, this is a most interesting patient, isn't he?" House asked Johanna.

"Yes."

"The most interesting patient you've ever seen?"

"Yes."

House turned to Dr. Harville. "Harville, how about letting me and my wife in the cell with the patient?"

"But that is too dangerous—"

"He's in a straight waistcoat and tied to the wall, Harville."

"Maniacs exhibit the most amazing strength, you haven't seen it. At those times they are impervious to pain. You—"

"C'mon, hand over the keys." House held his hand for them. "Dr. Eldridge, Dr. Glinda, get your sissy butts over here!"

With a disgusted sigh, Dr. Harville told the attendant to open the cell door.

The patient stepped back quickly into the corner of his cell, brown eyes darting suspiciously. House and Johanna approached him slowly. At House's nod, Johanna said softly, "Uncle William?"

The patient's expression became blank.

"I'm your niece, Johanna. Don't you remember me? We used to go hunting. You taught me how to ride and shoot. My father was your brother."

The man's expression did not change. His hair was filthy, as was the straightjacket. His skin was caked with grime. There were scars from beatings and his nose had been broken. "You're going to put me in the restraining chair."

"Why would we do that?"

"No one comes in here unless they're going to put me in the restraining chair for several days. You're going to do that to me."

Johanna looked at House. "What are we going to do?" she whispered.

Without answering her, House turned to Dr. Harville, standing in the doorway. "Dr. Harville, would you ask my assistants to come here?"

"They're all the way back at the gate."

"Tell them that if they don't get in here right now, you're going to set loose the biggest maniac here on their asses. Amazing what fear can do, isn't it, doc?"

Motherhips came in, Burton following and looking back fearfully at the occupants of the hall. "You wanted us, Dr. House?"

"I want you to observe this patient, Dr. Glinda. He believes he's King William, who we all know is in a private madhouse. Go with me on this. These delusions are almost impossible to cure. Dr. Eldridge, would you step forward and guard my wife from this lunatic? I want to speak to Dr. Harville."

Burton took a nervous step forward. "Yes, Dr. House." To Motherhips he whispered, "Why didn't he call you Dr. Quincy?"

The cloak House was wearing was heavy and hot, and the hem dragged through the guck on the floor. Still, it had almost completely hidden the use of his cane.

"Dr. Harville, I find this patient fascinating."

"He is, that he is. Do you know, we have bled him, purged him, given him emetics, rubbed his sores with mustard powder…and yet he refuses to come to his senses and admit he is not King William."

"What's his real name?"

"We don't know. Some men brought him here in a carriage, and he was extremely violent. One of them said they'd found him in the street, raving and attacking people. I don't doubt it. His rages were terrible for the first few years."

"Fascinating, as I said." House moved closer, ignoring the patient lying on the floor next to him. "I have a proposition to make to you, one doctor to another. I would like to study this lunatic. You seem to have had remarkable results with your system."

Harville nodded. "I like to think so. He's acquiescent now. But I'm not certain that this is a good notion."

House moved in for the kill. "I'll take him into my care. Nobody knows who he is, including you. I can study him closely and you don't have to take whatever name you've given him off the rolls. So you'll still get the money the county is paying you. And I can give you something for your trouble. Quite a _lot_ of something. It's not as if somebody's gonna notice he's missing." Both men laughed.

"That can be arranged."

"Can we take him today?" When he saw Harville hesitate, House added, "I'll make it worth your while. Tell the county he's dead if you have to. Although something tells me you've been cooking the books for years."

Since Harville had no idea of what House was talking about, he laughed heartily and clapped House on the back, nearly sending House sliding across the floor.

"'King William' is now _your_ patient, Dr. House."


	81. Chapter 81

After the money changed hands, Johanna's uncle gently loaded into the carriage, Burton and Motherhips climbed into the driver's seat on the carriage so that William could have a seat next to Johanna. The horses were urged to a gallop, heading back to the abandoned house that had been their shelter.

William reeked of all of the hospital smells, and carriage windows didn't roll down. He flinched any time House or Johanna moved.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked in a quavering voice.

"We're taking you to a safe place," Johanna answered. "Let me undo that straight waistcoat, Uncle."

"You can't be Johanna. You're too big."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "You haven't seen me for more than ten years, Uncle."

"I never thought you'd get so _big_."

"Well, she did," House said shortly. "You're doing it all wrong, Johanna. Move over." He changed seats with Johanna, and expertly undid the buckles and straps. William gasped as his arms dropped, and Johanna eased the garment off of him. Underneath he was wearing a faded shirt that had once been white.

"Come on," House said, opening the carriage door. "Throw that thing out before we expire from the stink. Not you," he added quickly to William. "Although you stink pretty bad, too."

########################################################

It was the middle of the night when they returned. William slept the entire way, exhausted. Burton and Motherhips carried him inside. William did not resist, probably because he had learned not to resist a long time ago. House followed them, making sure that the ex-king was made comfortable—well, as comfortable as anyone could be on a blanket on the floor. But the old boy had been so badly off, the floor probably felt like a Serta mattress. After being assured that Johanna was there and that he was safe, William promptly fell asleep again.

"Keddlestone was even worse than I could have imagined," Burton said to House. "Those poor beasts—"

"They're not beasts, moron," House cut him off. "They're people kept in hellish conditions. Anyone would crack, including you, Burton. In fact, I don't think you'd last three days. Do you think the king's a 'beast'?"

"No, but he's royalty. That is different."

"You're an idiot. _That's_ different." House lifted his head. "I heard chickens the last time we were here. Where are they?"

"There are some chickens wandering around."

"Okay. Catch a chicken, kill it, then slit its throat and get as much blood as you can in a cup or a bucket. Now."

House walked inside before Burton could protest.

Johanna was lying on the blanket, a short distance from her uncle. He was sleeping, but she was awake, her eyes fixed on him.

"It doesn't seem possible he is my uncle," she said. "But he is."

"He's also what's gonna keep me from getting killed, at least for now. Until I find out what's wrong with him and get him some treatment, he isn't of any use to the rebels. It's in their interest to protect me. At least for now." House leaned over. In the darkness, he looked for something, anything. He took the king's hands, turning them over.

William was instantly awake, eyes wild. "NO!" he yelled, and snatched away his hands.

"Shut up. I'm Dr. Gregory House. You're not at Keddlestone any more. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"Dr. House…?"

"Do you _understand_ me?"

William nodded. "I'm not at Keddlestone. Where am I?"

"Doesn't matter."

"House!" said Johanna. "Uncle, you're safe. We ran away—"

"Shut up," House snapped. "You can tell him the tale of our bold adventures when he's not out of his mind. I'm a doctor, and I'm going to examine you. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Are you going to give me a purgative?" William's voice was meek.

"No, I'm all out of them. You're going to have to learn to defecate by yourself again. Can you stand up?" William shook his head. "Then sit up. Johanna, brace him up. There's no point in asking you if you'd had any aches and pains. Damn, the candle keeps flickering."

House quickly gave William a physical examination. The king's body had quite a few scars, including deep ones on each forearm, presumably from bloodletting. "These quacks thought that draining your blood was good for you. You've probably got iron deficiency anemia." House felt the pulse in the neck; it was steady and strong. It was too dark to look in the king's eyes, but House took the candle and instructed the king to look at it while House moved it side to side, then up and down. Thank God William had learned to take orders so well.

"I'm going to go behind you and put my hands on your back. It won't hurt." He handed the candle to Johanna, then dragged himself around to the king's other side. House's leg was starting to spasm, so he swallowed two eth cakes before continuing.

There were no deformities of the thorax, and the slope of the ribs was normal. However, William's back had numerous long marks from flogging. He was breathing fast, but that could be put down to fright.

"Inhale," House instructed, lightly squeezing the sides of William's back. "Deeply. Symmetrical respiratory movement. I'm going to tap you now, so hold still."

House started by lightly tapping the shoulders, his head close to his hands. He continued to tap down the king's back, first one side of the spine, then the other, down to the waist. Nothing abnormal, except the scars.

He pulled him around to face William, whose eyes were wide.

"Breathe in, deeply." House put his head against William's chest. "Breathe out." Normal. "Say one-one-one."

"One-one-one." Normal. House wished he had a goddamned stethoscope and a decent overhead light. He proceeded to tap each side of William's chest. Normal.

"How is he, House?"

"Lung function normal, heart rate normal, pulse rapid but within normal range. This is getting annoying." House touched the side of William's chest.

The king flinched in pain. "Please! You said it wouldn't hurt."

"That was five minutes ago." House placed both of his hands on the outside rib cage, and squeezed gently. William's resulting howl of pain succeeding in making Johanna push House away from her uncle.

"Stop that!"

"Johanna, get away from me and let me do my job. Lie down, William."

William did as he was told, his gaze fixed upward.

"Put your hand on your stomach and lie still." The king put his left hand on his abdomen. Great, he was left-handed too. House placed his hand over William's, and began lightly palpating. "Tell me where it hurts."

"Everywhere," William gasped.

"You'll have to be more specific." House looked at Johanna. "There's no point in asking him how he feels when he eats, because he's been fed a starvation diet, probably moldy bread and other tasty morsels. William, where does it hurt? Here? Here?" House pushed their hands down harder on the king's abdomen, making his patient gasp. But particularly when they pushed the left side above the stomach. House moved William's hand and palpated it harder.

"Please, stop!" William begged. "The pain—please—"

"House, stop it! You're hurting him!"

"That's the point," House snarled. Quickly he palpated the liver and spleen, but that didn't seem to cause any pain. "Do you vomit after eating? What color is your stool? Do you get heartburn?" House lifted his hands in a gesture of annoyance. "Of course he vomits. They give him things to make him puke his guts out. We might have to wait until he's recovered a little bit."

"From you?" Johanna snapped, stroking her uncle's matted hair. "How can you be so cruel?"

"Because I don't have an MRI, a stethoscope, a lab—you name it, I haven't got it! If I have to cause his royal Heinyness some discomfort, so be it."

"I'm grateful you're not _my_ physician," Motherhips said from across the room.

"I'm twice as grateful you're not my patient, Mom-Ass."

Burton came in, blood and feathers staining his waistcoat. He was holding a bucket. "Your chicken blood, House."

"Good. Put as much as you can in a cup. We'll save the rest for later."

"What are you doing, House?" asked Motherhips.

"Old Chinese remedy for anemia and a great source of iron. Every house should have a couple of cans." House took the cup of blood and looked at William. "Can you drink this by yourself or do you need help?"

"No, no, I'll drink it!" William snatched the cup and chugged it, wincing at the taste.

"Good boy," said House. "If you don't puke it up, we'll give you some more later. Now go back to sleep." He looked at Johanna. "I'd give him some eth, but we don't know how he'll react to it, and besides, I need it for myself."

"Your self-regard is truly astounding," Johanna muttered.

House got up, taking his cane. "Okay, everybody, into the stable. We have a differential to do."


	82. Chapter 82

_These are definitely not the right people to do a differential with._

_A/N: If you've read this far, please leave a review!_

"Okay, people, the patient presents with pain in the upper left quadrant of the abdomen. Lungs, pulse, and heart are normal. At this point the patient does not seem to have any neurological deficits. He is conscious, knows where he is, and reacts to stimuli appropriately for someone who's been whipped and tortured for a decade. Pain presented when patient was palpated. Go!"

Motherhips, Burton, and Johanna, who were all sitting on a fallen beam, stared at House dumbly.

"Come on, give me something!" House demanded.

"Gout?" said Motherhips.

"His hands and feet showed no evidence of gout or arthritis. What else?"

"Ague?" Johanna suggested.

"No fever or chills. What else?"

"Croup!" Burton said, grinning.

"No cough. What else?"

"Apoplexy!"

"Jaundice!"

"Colic!"

"Horseshoehead!"

"Tissick!"

"St. Vitus Dance!"

"Evil!"

"Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong and what the hell is Evil?" House stared at Burton.

"The King's Evil," Burton replied. "It can only be cured by the touch of the sovereign."

"Okay, wrong _and_ stupid. Our patient _is _the sovereign. Doesn't matter where or why he touches himself, it hasn't worked. What else?"

Silence fell. Johanna and Burton studied the floor. Motherhips gazed into the middle distance. House began limping back and forth.

"Thanks to it being the Stone Age here, a full physical exam can't be performed until the sun comes up." House thumped his cane on the ground. "Go in there and see if he's kept down the blood. If he has, Johanna, you make your uncle drink the rest of it. Motherhips, you stay here."

Burton and Johanna went inside. House took a step toward Motherhips.

"Can you boil a large pot of water?"

"Yes. We have a pot, and there's a well on the property. Why?"

House leaned in. "Get that dead chicken, and when the water's boiling, plunge it in by the feet, then take it out and strip the feathers. Then toss the bird back in the water and boil it until it falls apart. Except for the internal organs. Take them out. I'll need the liver."

Motherhips gasped. "You expect me to—to pluck and eviscerate a chicken?"

"Pretend you're undressing a young boy, just a lot faster."

"Why do I have to do all of the unpleasant activities?"

"Because it's fun to watch you protest. Get going."

House went back inside.

"It stayed down," Johanna said, kneeling by her uncle's side. William's eyes followed House's every move. He jerked away when House came near.

"You've gotta get over this years of abuse thing if we're going to get anywhere, your Highness," House said.

"House, once again you prove you have no soul," Johanna said, dabbing at her uncle's chicken blood stained lips with her skirt. House reflected how far she had come from the time he had first kidnapped her. Even if she was still a pain in the ass. As he passed by her, he let his hand drag lightly across her hair. She took his hand and kissed it. "Thank you for saving my uncle. You do have a soul, but you dislike showing it."

"It's shy. Burton, I need you to get a message to Semple. Tell him the princess is with me and we have the king. Don't stop until you get to the Frog and Peach."

"But—"

"I know you love to ride bareback, and no, that isn't a metaphor. Off you go. Don't worry; I've got Motherhips doing the heavy lifting. You can have reunion sex when you get back."

#######################################################

House decided to wait until morning to feed William the chicken liver. Once the chicken "soup" had been brought in by a very surly Motherhips, he and Johanna were allowed to sleep by House. He swallowed two eth cakes, both to ease his leg pain and help him sleep.

What was going to happen now that House had sprung the king? Nobody involved in this had a guaranteed life expectancy beyond two hours. Could he get William into good enough shape to get back on the throne, assuming they could get that far? He looked over at Johanna, sleeping next to her uncle. They had slept next to each other almost every night for months now. House felt bereft, and strangely jealous.

Making sure not to wake Johanna, House moved around to her other side, lowered himself to the ground, and stretched out next to her, putting his hand lightly on her shoulder. Johanna murmured something in her sleep, reached up and touched his hand. House felt himself getting hard. He pushed gently against her rump. Nuzzling her neck, he heard her make a little happy sound. He kissed gently, moving his face into her hair. Reaching around her, he felt her breasts inside her dress, small mounds. So much smaller than the implants the hookers House favored had. Blood was moving into his crotch, and for the hundredth time he cursed his breeches.

He didn't dare make a sound, not with the king lying right there. If William woke up and saw them dry-humping each other, he might have a psychotic break. Or want to join in, it had probably been forever since he'd had sex with a woman.

House shouldn't have thought about that. His arousal faded until it was a faint shadow of itself. The image of William tied to the wall, the screaming prisoners in the asylum, was a highly effective anaphrodisiac.

With an annoyed sigh, he let his hand slips from Johanna's breasts, and tried to fall asleep.

########################################################

The morning sun was high in the sky when House awoke. He started, realizing that neither Johanna nor William were there. When he looked around, he saw William crouching in the corner. Johanna sat at on the floor, a slight distance from him. Motherhips still snored away on the other side of the room.

"I found him when I woke," Johanna said. "He won't let me touch him."

"You'll put me in the restraining chair," William said.

House lifted himself up, his leg burning and his back sore. "There is no restraining chair here, you idiot. I don't think there's even a chair. I could put you on the restraining heap of dirt if that's what you want. Do you know where you are?"

William nodded. "I'm in an empty house. Why is the house empty?"

"We fell behind in our furniture payments. Okay, your Majesty, time for a tasty breakfast of raw chicken liver. I'm getting as much iron into you as I can without a transfusion. Too bad we don't have any collard greens. Motherhips!"

"Huh?"

"Get the chicken liver. Move it, dreamgirl."

Motherhips's back radiated disdain as he fetched the food. He dropped the liver in House's palm. "Your offal, sir."

"There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'll ignore it." House turned back to William. "Eat th—"

Before he could finish his sentence, William snatched the chicken liver and stuffed it into his mouth, smiling beatifically (well, as beatifically as anyone with a mouth stuffed with raw guts could smile) at the taste. House watched him eat.

"William, give me your hand."

William gave House the hand that wasn't shoving liver into his mouth. House turned it over and examined the palm. Besides other scars, there were numerous small lesions scattered over the palm and the fingers. They were old, but there nonetheless.

"Let me see your feet."

William obligingly slid his legs out, and House looked at the soles of William's feet. The same lesions.

"Shit," House said. "Arsenic poisoning."


	83. Chapter 83

"It fits," House said. "Mental confusion, delirium, the lesions on his hands and feet—let me see your fingernails, your Majesty." He took William's hand and examined the nails. "Beau's lines on the fingernails, periungual pigmentation. Come on, stand up. Damn, you really _do_ stink."

"What does all of this mean?" asked Johanna. "If it's arsenic, how did he survive?"

"Put both your arms out, palms up," House directed, ignoring her. He put his hands on William's. "Can you feel my hands?"

"Of course I can." King William was beginning to act less like a whipped dog, House noted.

"Can you feel your feet?"

"Yes."

"Touch your nose with your forefinger, first the left, then the right. Eyes closed. Left, right, left, right, left, right. Okay, with your arms out, eyes closed, walk toward me. Don't fall or you'll take us both down."

Eyes closed, William took several weak but steady steps forward.

"Good enough," House said. "No peripheral neuropathy, no indicators of major neurological damage, good lung and heart function. Your uncle got lucky, Johanna. I'm guessing nobody put arsenic in his food at Keddlestone. I'm also guessing your parents were poisoned by arsenic, but faster."

"Oh, dear God." Johanna folded her arms tightly around herself. "How they must have suffered. _Damn_ my Uncle Louis! Poor Mother and Father, they didn't deserve to die that way."

"I knew it!" crowed Motherhips. "I knew they were poisoned! Black lurgi, indeed."

"Shut up, Motherhips," House said. He wanted to comfort Johanna, but he had work to do. "How much do you remember of the months before you were put in the loony bin?"

"Not very much," William said. He turned and looked at Johanna. "You're the image of your father. Even the same height. How did—"

"I know, how did I get so big," Johanna said, exasperated. "I just _did_, that's all. You needn't keep pointing it out, uncle, it's quite embarrassing." House waved her silent.

"My brother was tall as well," William remarked to House. Standing, the king was only slightly shorter than Johanna, probably five foot eleven inches. His legs started to buckle; House caught him and lowered him gently to the ground.

"You must forgive me," said the king. "I wasn't allowed to stand properly very often."

"Your legs are weak, not atrophied," House said, sitting next to him. "Try to remember anything before you were taken to Keddlestone. Any changes in routine? Feeling ill? Nauseous?"

"I can't remember, Dr—what did you say your name was?"

"Dr. House." House sighed. It was going to take time for William to retrieve his memories of life before Keddlestone. House tried another tack.

"Did you daydream?"

"It kept me alive."

"What did you daydream about?"

William paused. "Cherubs. Many lovely, precious _cherubs_."

House buried his head in his hands. "Oh _God,_ not cherubs again." He looked at Johanna. "What is this obsession that your family has with cherubs?"

#######################################################

Both Motherhips and Johanna refused to bathe William. House wasn't about to do it. He wished they had a lake to drop him into, or a hose. When Burton came back, House would make him do it.

William was inside, with Motherhips looking after him. House wandered down to the water pump. The sky was slightly overcast. There was the smell of rain in the air.

House heard her come up behind him. He turned and smiled. "Hey."

She looked slightly puzzled by the greeting, but put her arms around his shoulders. He was unsteady on the uneven ground, but not too much.

"How are you?"

"Not very well," Johanna said. "Have you ever _seen_ anyone die of arsenic poisoning? It's so horrible."

"I'm sure it was done quickly," he said, looking in her dark brown eyes. "They suffered, but not for too long. Gradual arsenic poisoning is much worse."

"Since it had worked on my uncle William, my uncle Louis must have decided that it would work even more efficaciously on my parents. That _bastard_. Thank goodness I have you, House."

He froze. "What do you mean, _have_ me?"

"You know what I mean. My traveling companion, my lover, my—"

"I wouldn't say anymore if I were you."

She looked him, her thick brown eyebrows knitting together. "House, what is it? Surely by now—"

"Johanna, our worlds have nothing in common. Maybe a little. Like trees. I'm not meant to be here, I'm meant to be somewhere else. You can't understand what I'm talking about most of the time, can you?"

She tilted her head back. "I understand _almost_ everything. There are moments when the way in which you express yourself is peculiar, but I've gotten accustomed to it. As I said back at the palace, you're interesting, intelligent, unlike any person, man or woman, that I've encountered. I knew _exactly_ where my life was going and I believed I had no say in the matter. But now you've pulled me out of the cotton-lined box I lived in and shown me a side of life I never knew existed. Surely we have that in common. We're _both_ strangers here, in a sense."

House felt like his stomach had dropped two stories. He stared at Johanna. Was it possible that he loved her? But that was impossible, it was wrong, he might vanish out of here any minute. Johanna didn't care that he was addicted to eth, that he was bitter, that he saw the squalid in the everyday…he kissed her warm, soft mouth, amazed. But damned if he was going to say it. That would spoil everything.

She kissed back, tenderly, her hands moving to cup either side of his head as she slowly slid her tongue into his mouth. House was so jolted by her kiss he wanted to run and hide. This was far too much, he didn't want it—but he kissed back, his ardor increasing, pressing his body against hers. His left arm was still as his side, the right bent to hold the cane. He let her tongue explore his mouth, tingling as she ran it along his upper palate. Her eyes were closed, her chestnut hair down to her shoulders and tangled, her face needed washing. He would never get tired of exploring her face.

_Stop it! Stop it now! _He pulled his head back. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked dazed. "What?"

"I need to go inside and resume interrogating your uncle." He didn't look at her, and quickly limped back to the house.


	84. Chapter 84

"Stop this at once! I command you to unhand me, sir!"

"I can never get over the fact you people say 'unhand me.' Why, by the way, we're not going to."

House and Motherhips were holding King William's head under the water pump's flow, while Johanna tried to untangle his matted hair, using an improvised mixture of chicken fat and crushed pine needles. When Motherhips first bent the naked king down, William reacted with terror. "It's not the Bath of Surprise, it's a surprise bath," House reprimanded him. "Your odor could drop a moose at fifty paces. Motherhips, his dick is off-limits, unless you want yours chopped off when he comes to his senses."

A cheerful fire, much of it made of William's dirty clothing, heated more water with pine needles floating in it. Johanna nodded to House when she could get her fingers through her uncle's hair.. Motherhips helped William stand upright, holding firmly.

The sky was still overcast and the breeze had turned cool, so it was imperative they get the king washed, dried and dressed as soon as possible.

"We're going to pour some warm water over you," House said. "So don't start screaming and getting all mental patient on us. Stand still."

Motherhips carefully took the pot by the handle, and using a cloth to prevent himself from getting burned, poured half of the water over the king. Johanna continued to work on his hair, wincing when the water splashed into her face.

"My apologies, Uncle William," Johanna muttered, handing him a cloth. "Here, wash yourself."

Both she and House were being careful not to meet the other's eyes. When it happened, either House or Johanna averted them quickly. House wasn't sure which of them he was more angry at.

After Motherhips patted William dry with a blanket, House ordered Motherhips to give the king his clothes. "You've got plenty of dresses packed up."

"But you're closer to his size," Motherhips whined.

"This is the only decent set of clothing I have, Mom-Ass. I don't care if he is the ruler of this ratty little country, until he is lowered onto the throne, I am Dr. King. And I'm glad you have no idea what that means."

Muttering, Motherhips went to fetch a box down from the carriage. Soon, he emerged in his blue dress and bonnet, holding his brown tweed suit and white shirt. He thrust them at House.

"You look better as a woman, Mom-Ass," House assured him. "Dress him," he told Johanna. "You've seen him naked, so don't get all girly with me. "

#########################################################

The chicken soup had to make do for all of them, along with a loaf of bread. House wasn't sure what he missed most, Froot Loops cereal or moo goo gai pan. Bits of meat, bone and chicken skin floated in thin broth.

"Shouldn't Burton be back by now?" Motherhips glanced around nervously.

"No, it will take him at least another day to reach the Frog And Peach. All we can do is wait."

House looked at William. "So, how are we doing? How's the old memory? Anything come to you before you were chucked into the mad house?"

William thought. His brown hair was now a long, greasy mess, but it still beat what had been on his head before. Motherhips's suit was a bit short and yet baggy on him. "I remember that I was king. And then I fell sick. And then I was locked up."

"Wow, you have _got_ to tone down the flowery descriptions."

"Am I the king now?"

"Not yet. Maybe not ever. Your brother-in-law took care of that. He had you declared insane, and then he told everyone that you were in a private madhouse. Sucks for you that he dumped you at Keddlestone instead. Also sucks that he murdered your brother and your sister-in-law. Passed it off as natural causes, which he can get away with since you folks can't exhume a body and do a _real_ autopsy."

"My brother—his wife—killed?" William paled. "But why?"

"Your brother became king while you were being put in the restraining chair. Louis has plans to be the king. Big plans."

William stared at the ground. House went on, "Your niece Johanna is the heir presumptive. Or is it heir apparent? I always get those mixed up. So of course Louis was going to arrange to have her killed her as well. He told me so."

"My mother—is she still alive?"

"OH yeah. Very much alive. That old bat is a survivor if ever I saw one."

House proceeded to tell William the events leading up to freeing him from Keddlestone, which made for a pretty long monologue. William continued staring at the ground. House wasn't sure how much of the story the king was actually taking in. Oh, well, the others could take turns reciting it until it got through the king's traumatized head.

"What's that?" asked Motherhips suddenly.

"What's what?"

Motherhips stood up, staring into the woods. "I hear someone coming through the woods. More than one, in fact."

"Shit!" House scrambled to his feet, leaning on his cane. "Everyone, get on the other side of the carriage. Mom-Ass, cut Storm loose. William, you're going to have to trust me on this, these men do NOT have our best interests in mind. Johanna, get the guns!"

House practically had to push William around the carriage, since the man was badly confused. Johanna tossed House and Motherhips muskets. "Get down," House told William. "As close to the ground as you can."

They waited, barely breathing, until a large contingent of men, obviously locals, came out of the woods toward the abandoned house. They carried guns, sticks and swords.

"Ready, aim, fire," House said softly, pointing his musket at the men.

All three fired as one, causing the men to turn in confusion, not knowing where the gunfire was coming from. Johanna picked up a rifle and a bag of rifle shot, tearing open the packet with her teeth and quickly loading. She aimed directly at the leader of the group, and brought him down with one shot.

House and Motherhips loaded as fast as they could, firing into the crowd.

"Give me a weapon," William said. "Give me a weapon NOW."

"How do I know you won't shoot our heads off?" House asked. As the question came out of his mouth, a pistol flew past his head, which William expertly caught.

The men had located House's group, and started firing at the carriage. House watched in amazement as William pointed, aimed and shot as well as his niece.

"Johanna! More shot!" William yelled as Motherhips and House loaded their rifles. Musket balls were burying themselves in the carriage's surface and ricocheting off the metal wheels. Motherhips positioned himself behind a rear wheel and shot, reloaded, and shot again. House's leg started to cramp, but unless he wanted a bullet through it, he had to concentrate. He picked up a pistol and fired. Damn, there were so many of them! They were even throwing rocks, which was ineffectual but highly unnerving.

Johanna threw House a desperate look. _This is the end_, she mouthed, tears sliding down her face. He didn't know what to say.

House stood in the doorway of Wilson's bathroom. Wilson was trimming his sideburns. Wilson saw House in the mirror and spun around, dropping the trimmers.

It was completely silent. In a millisecond, House took it all in: the toilet, the bathtub, indoor plumbing, the smell of cooked pasta over everything.

And Wilson, in a grey t-shirt and pajama pants. He looked terrible, and scared out of his mind.

"_House!_ House, how did you get here? We thought you were dead!"

"I don't—I don't know." House shaded his eyes. . It was blinding. House hadn't been in electric lighting in months.

He turned his head. Behind him, as if through a gauzy screen, the battle was still raging, as if he was only standing a foot away. If he took one step forward…

His head snapped around. "Wilson, do you know how to shoot a gun?"

"House, you've been gone for _months_! They dragged the river for you!"

"DO YOU KNOW HOW TO SHOOT A GUN?"

"Yes, but what—"

Not letting himself think about the consequences, House grabbed Wilson by the arm and pulled him through the screen or whatever it was.


	85. Chapter 85

It was as if House had never left. The pouring rain, the booming of guns, a cacophony of yelling and branches crashing. William, Johanna and Motherhips were firing as fast as they could. House found himself again kneeling in the mud, holding a pistol. Next to _Wilson._ Wilson dressed in a brown frock coat. _Wilson._

He thrust the gun at Wilson.

"House—what—" Wilson was blinking in the downpour.

"Shoot! Aim at anything except _us!_ Shoot!" House yelled.

Wilson took the pistol in both hands and shot into the crowd of men, wincing at the explosive sound. He tried to fire again. House snatched it away and gave him a rifle.

"They only fire once!" House tore open a packet of shot with his teeth and reloaded the pistol. "Just so you know, we're going to die!"

"Why—"

"Shut UP! Keep firing!"

Wilson aimed and fired, making a slight "ouch!" when the rifle kicked back across his shoulder. House had to force himself to concentrate on reloading his rifle and not look at his best friend.

Oh, God, the mob were nearly at the carriage—House could see their faces—the last thing he would ever see—

Shots rang out from the same direction as their pursuers. Suddenly, one of the men dropped in his tracks.

Semple and his men, art least thirty of them, came thundering on horseback, shooting at everything that moved. Some of them used swords to hack at the survivors. The yeomanry scattered before the horsemen, running in every direction into the woods. Burton rode alongside Semple's men.

"Eldridge!" Motherhips cried. "Eldridge, we're back here!"

House dropped his gun, exhausted, soaked to the skin. The dark sky, the rain, Wilson's bathroom—_what the hell was going on?_

"House-"Wilson spluttered, staring around, panicked. "Why—what have I got on?" He looked down at his brown suit, white stockings and buckled shoes. Appropriately, it looked expensive, albeit drenched and muddy.

"The first time I saw you, you were wearing a dress," House said, pulling his cane out of the sludge.

Semple dismounted with a flourish. Water ran from his tricorn hat. He strode behind the carriage where the sodden party was crouched. He smiled his perfect smile.

"Well, House, I see you're still alive."

"No thanks to you," House gasped.

"Johanna, I cannot understand what came over you," Semple said, walking to Johanna and helping her up. "Why did you run away with this man?"

Johanna grinned triumphantly, wet brown hair hanging in her face. "To free my uncle. Semple, may I present his Majesty, King William."

Semple stared in astonishment at the king. With Motherhips's help, William got to his feet. "We are grateful for your help, sir," he said.

Semple looked at Johanna. "Is he the authentic king?"

Johanna flipped her hair out of her face. "Yes. We rescued him from the asylum. If it wasn't for House, it would not have happened."

Semple went down on one knee before William, his cloak sagging into the mud. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head. Quickly, the other men scrambled off their horses and dropped to their knees, taking off their hats echoing, "Your Majesty."

"You may stand, sir." William still appeared slightly confused. It was nothing to how confused House felt.

"May I suggest that we go indoors, your Majesty?" Semple gestured toward the abandoned house. "It is not healthy to be out in weather such as this."

"Yeah, like we had a choice," House mumbled.

"Men, you may stand now," Semple announced to his troops. With a great deal of groaning and muttering, the men remounted their horses.

"Eldridge!"

"Quincy!"

Motherhips and Burton threw their arms around each other, hugging. But they knew better than to kiss in front of a crowd of men.

"Shall we, milady?" Semple said to Johanna, hooking her arm through his. Johanna threw a glance back at House.

Burton squinted through the rain at Wilson.

"Who's he?" Burton asked.

The others turned. Wilson stared around at all them. House knew just how Wilson felt. It could be worse. Wilson wasn't wearing a white military uniform with a feathered helmet.

"This is a compatriot of mine," said House. "Marmaduke James Evan Est Un Débile Wilson."

"Marmaduke?" Wilson sputtered.

"_Everybody_ here is named Marmaduke, trust me on this one," House whispered.

Johanna dropped Semple's arm.

She approached up to the sodden, shocked man, until they were nearly nose to nose. They _were_ nose to nose. They were the same height.

"So," she said. "_This_ is Wilson."

Yes, Johanna, this is Wilson." House moved between them. "Can we go inside, please? If you two are going to have a fistfight, I'd rather it be indoors."

"House, why would we have a fistfight? I don't even know this woman…but you look awfully familiar."

"Wilson, allow me to present her Royal Highness Princess Johanna." House gave a small bow. The resemblance was unnerving. Johanna could be Wilson's sister. Her brows were thinner, her face more feminine, her lips fuller, but still. She really did look like Wilson. Or Wilson really looked like her. House had no idea which came first.

"So," Johanna repeated, "_this_ is Wilson."

"House, where are we? It's raining! I'm in weird clothes!"

"God, Wilson, you're such a girl." House shot a look at Johanna. "I mean…you're…oh, forget it. The rest of you go in the house, I need to talk to my compatriot here."

Johanna took Semple's arm and smiled up at him, the rain pelting her face. "Shall we go in, my darling?"

#########################################################

"House, what happened? Where are we? Why are you dressed like that? Why am I dressed like that? You were in my bathroom—can we go inside? I'm getting soaked!"

House steered his friend away from the men on their horses, sneezing a bit of water out of his nose.

"We stay outside until I make a few things clear." House could not believe he was actually looking at _Wilson._ He reached out and put one hand on Wilson's shoulder. Yes, he was real, the shoulder was solid.

"I don't know how I got here. I don't know how you got here. I don't know why _either_ of us is here. What I do know is that this country is primitive, there are no electric lights, there is no indoor plumbing, when you crap you have to wipe yourself with leaves or ferns or whatever else is around, and you don't get to change clothes very often."

Wilson rubbed his face was still, then took his hands around from his face. "It's still here."

"Tell me about it. I felt the same way you did for weeks. So here's the deal. Princess Johanna is the niece of King William, whose brother-in-law, Louis, is currently Prince Regent, which is the same as king but without the cool accessories. The guy who rescued us is the leader of a rebellion that aimed to put Johanna on the throne, but I got her uncle out of a mad house and so he's going to be on the throne."

"Semple?"

"No, King William. Look, just go with me on this. Assuming the rebels can take over. Remember, they're the good guys. Rebels: good. Military: bad. And I'm _also_ named Marmaduke."

"Then why are these people calling you House?"

"Long story." House grinned. "It's good to see you, Wilson."

"It's good to see you too, House," said Wilson. "Assuming I haven't gone completely insane. Unless this is all a dream. I thought you were dead."

"Why did you think I was dead?"

"You disappeared! Into thin air! Nobody knew where you were, your mom, Cuddy, the two hookers you charged to my credit card, Lucas_, nobody! _We filed a missing persons' report, they dragged the river, they-they did everything! We all thought—" Wilson paused, then said quietly, "We all thought you had committed suicide, or overdosed. I didn't understand why you didn't leave a note."

"I would have," House said softly. "I wasn't given the chance. Come on, let's go inside. It's raining."


	86. Chapter 86

"Ah, Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine!" Semple greeted House and Wilson when they walked into the house. Heavy rain on the shale roof made it necessary to speak loudly. There was a strong smell of wet wool from everyone's sodden clothing.

Since there was no furniture, someone had piled all of the blankets into a sort of large cushion for King William and Johanna to sit upon. Everyone else sat on the floor, including Semple, who sat by Johanna. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight when she saw House.

"Captain! You _must_ tell my dear, dear friend," she took Semple's hand, "all about your exploits on the battlefield. Mr.—is it Mr.?"

"Doctor," said Wilson.

"Dr. Marmaduke James Evan Est Un Débile Wilson, the Captain told me you were his—er—battlefield alliance?"

A small gasp went around the room.

"I've—I've never been in the military, Miss—what did you say your name is?"

"She's her Royal Highness Princess Johanna," House reminded him. "And your information is incorrect, your Highness." He glared at her. "We are boyhood friends. Grew up in the same tiny little province, went to school together…he got married, we went our separate ways, the old story. Right, Est Un Débile Wilson?"'

"_I can speak French_," Wilson whispered.

Motherhips gazed at Wilson, his eyes glittering for a very different reason. He stroked the ribbons on his dress bodice. "Well, _hello_ there, Dr. Est Un Debile Wilson. It's so very pleasant to meet you." Burton elbowed Motherhips. "Ow! What did I say?"

"I'm pleased to meet _you_, Miss. You can call me Dr. Wilson."

"Why, thank you-Ow!" Motherhips glared at his partner.

"Your exploits, Captain?" Johanna repeated.

"Her Highness knows that my memory often fails me on that subject," House said through gritted teeth. "I remember that I saved my regiment using a slingshot and some old wine corks, but the details escape me."

With difficulty, House sat down on the dirt floor. Wilson, looking nervously at Motherhips, followed suit. William had another blanket on his shoulders and seemed utterly befuddled.

House peered at him. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'd like to continue getting a medical history from my patient."

"Medical history?" asked Semple.

"I was _starting_ to jog his Majesty's memory when that merry band of thugs attacked us. Ever since I got him sprung from Keddlestone, I have been the king's personal physician. Even you can see that he needs medical attention, Semple."

"Semple?" William said, snapping out of his trance. "You are my niece's fiancé, Lord Marmaduke Semple MacPherson Bout'A Bout Des Oiseaux. Semple!"

"Why, yes, that is who I am, your Majesty."

"Goodness! My heart is gladdened to know that the two of you married after all."

"But uncle—"

"How many children do you have?"

Johanna and Semple looked at each other.

"The last time I saw you, you were a girl of ten." William smiled, probably the first time he had since they got him out of Keddlestone. "Aw, such a sweet child. When did you get so _big_?"

"She wasn't small then, your Majesty," Semple said, and laughed. Johanna didn't.

"Do you remember, Uncle William, teaching me how to shoot?" she asked. "And how to ride a horse? And how to gather eggs from chickens without getting pecked?"

William looked fondly at his niece. "Oh, yes, I do remember. You almost shot the house steward the first time. It was my fault for having him stand so near the target."

"This is good," House said. "You're kick-starting his memory. Ask him something else."

Johanna thought. "Do you remember our summer palace?"

"Yes, all of those beautiful cherubs. I particularly loved the statue near the library. I would sit and gaze at it for hours."

_I wonder if he'd still want to gaze at it if he knew I peed on the damn statue every day while I was there,_ House thought.

"Keeping going," he urged Johanna.

"Very well. Uncle William, do you remember what happened before you were committed? Do you remember being King?"

"Of course I do!" William drew himself up indignantly. "I am the King, and will always be the King of Princeton-on-Sea. What a ridiculous question, Johanna."

"Princeton?" gasped Wilson. "Seriously?"

"Shut up, Wilson, you're interfering with the process," House snapped. "Actually, Johanna, how _did _you get so big?"

"_You_ shut up, House!"

"Princeton?" Wilson repeated.

House rolled his eyes upward. "How the hell am I supposed to focus with all of you people nattering away? King William, Johanna, you two with me to the stable, _now."_

Wilson scrambled to his feet. "I'm going along for a consult."

House started to feel annoyed, and then thought about the consequences of leaving Wilson alone with these people. "Fine."

###########################################################

In the ruins of the stable, rain dripped off the edge of the roof. The sun was watery, everything soaked. Outside, the sounds of stakes being driven in the ground, men's voices, and heavy thumps indicated the sound of the tent camp being set up. .

House looked at King William. "Male Caucasian, approximately 50 years old, six foot two, weight approximately 155 pounds. Scars from flogging, restraint, cutting, and burning. Arsenic poisoning lesions on hands and feet, the patient presents with pain in the upper left quadrant of the abdomen when pressure is applied. Possibly consistent with arsenic poisoning."

Wilson looked the king over. "He's emaciated, pale, and appears weak. It could be Chrons disease. How are his bowel movements? And his appetite?"

"You would put them in that order," House said. "He's pale, emaciated and weak because he's been in a medieval dungeon they prefer to call a charitable asylum for the insane for ten years. He's been beaten, cut, starved, and to put the cherry on top of the cupcake, force-fed emetics and laxatives. Actually, sounds a lot like a spa to me. His appetite's great, this morning he chowed down on chicken guts." House looked at the king. "Would you mind if I gently touched your side again, your Majesty?" House squeezed the same area that he had palpated before.

"Not at—OOOW! Take your hand off of me!"

"Oops. I forget my own strength." House looked at Johanna. "I would kill for an MRI machine right now. No, I'm not going to explain what that is." He looked closely at William's eyes. "No jaundice, so that means it's probably not pancreatic cancer. We'll just have to wait it out."

"Wait what out?" Johanna asked.

"How long have you had this particular pain?"

William thought. "I've had it for a long time…as long as I've been in Keddlestone. Maybe before, I don't remember." He looked at House. "There are so many things I don't remember."

"Wait what out?" Johanna repeated.

"Wait until his general health improves. Then it will be easier to diagnose. When someone's a mass of symptoms from situational causes, you have to wait until the symptoms resolve themselves, i.e. the anemia, starvation, and injuries. Assuming he doesn't get any worse while they resolve."

"House, what _is_ going on here?" Wilson suddenly asked.

"I don't have the time to explain everything to you, Wilson. That blond pretty boy in there is going to have me killed as soon as the king doesn't need me any more; they're planning a rebellion and I don't know why a landed aristocrat is leading it; and most of this country is looking for me because I have a bounty on my head for kidnapping _her_."

"But then I kidnapped _you_," Johanna pointed out.

House shrugged at Wilson. "It's a thing we do."

"I'm not certain either of them was a good idea," Johanna sniffed, and went back inside.


	87. Chapter 87

When they returned, Johanna was nestled next to Semple, looking like the fucking cat that ate the canary. He wasn't sure which one he wanted to stab in the eye with a corkscrew, Semple or Johanna.

John, one of Semple's men, leapt up and guided the king to his seat on the blankets. House recognized him as the man who had given him the false map. Wilson settled back on his place on the floor. House lowered himself to the floor, grunting in pain. Then he shook two eth cakes out of his bottle and swallowed them.

Shocked, Wilson gasped, "You've relapsed?"

"Vicodin is children's aspirin compared to these babies. Relax; it's dug out of quarries. You could even consider it homeopathic. Do you know what it's like to be a cripple in a world without elevators?"

"So, Dr. Dr. Est Un Debile Wilson—"Johanna began.

"Please, call me Dr. Wilson."

"Not just…_Wilson_?"

Johanna's eyes darted to House and she smiled. But when her eyes went to Wilson, House could see that _she_ would like to stab _Wilson_ in the eye with a corkscrew.

As glad as he was to have Wilson here, House wondered if he had done the right thing, especially to Wilson.

"No, no, why would you think that? Dr. Wilson is fine. I'm a doctor. An oncologist."

There was a brief silence. "An unk-oogist?" asked John.

"No, a—"

"He reads the color of people's bowel movements," House interrupted. "If there's one thing he's an expert in, it's excrement."

"Your Majesty, it is nothing short of a miracle that you are with us again," Semple said to the king.

"Who has been ruling in my stead? My brother?"

"No, Uncle William. Your brother-in-law, Louis," she answered.

William's eyes widened. "But that is nonsense!"

"He is ruling as the Prince Regent," Johanna continued. "He had my parents murdered a few years after you were taken away, and then…well…now you know."

"My brother is dead?" William stared at her. She nodded.

"And that is why our mission is to _overthrow_ this tyrant and put the _rightful_ ruler on the throne!" Semple declaimed. His men muttered, "Here, here" without a lot of energy.

"We are in contact with almost all of the mayors of the towns and villages of this island," Semple continued. "It is around now that the Prince Regent and his court move into Rutgers for the season. When the time is right, we shall send messages to all of the mayors and their like to converge upon the city. The citizens have been tyrannized, over-taxed, their lands plundered. We shall right that wrong, and set up a new court"

_I wonder who of Semple's friends are going to be in that court_, House thought.

"Johanna will be your heir presumptive and I shall be at her side as her loving husband, your Majesty." Semple was obviously clenching Johanna's hand to signal that she was not to contradict him publicly.

Her brown eyes met House's, and then she looked away again, clearly upset. Nevertheless, she laid her head on Semple's shoulder.

"So that's why you're leading the rebellion?" House asked. "So that you can take the throne?"

"_Johanna _will take the throne," Semple said with one of those blinding smiles of his. "I am happy to merely be an advisor to her Majesty."

"And what about the real king here?"

"If he is fit to rule, well, then, he shall be placed upon the throne," Semple said smoothly.

"Of course I am fit to rule!" William exclaimed. "I am the king of this country! That arrogant brother-in-law of mine must be brought to justice. And then I will again be restored to my rightful position."

Blond Beauty turned his smile toward William. "As you say, your Majesty."

House doubted that William would be considered fit to rule any time soon, whether or not he actually was.

###############################################################

It was still raining when a supper of bread, potatoes and bacon was served on tin plates. "Don't eat too fast or you'll bring it all up," House cautioned, grabbing William's hand before he could stuff an entire potato into his mouth.

"You don't know how long it's been since I've eaten real food," William said, holding the plate under his nose and inhaling the smell.

"You're the king, don't you want to set an example for all of these barbarians?" House asked. "They see you eating a like a crazed warthog, they'll eat that way."

William nodded. "I had not thought of that. Thank you, Dr. House." He still held the potato, but bit off a third of it, chewing.

Wilson held his plate, looking at the contents. "They eat this stuff?" he whispered to House. "It's incredibly unsanitary—they could all get food poisoning. They're eating with their _hands,_ for God's sake."

"Wake up and smell the horseshit, Wilson!" House whispered back. It was bad enough _he'd_ had to get used to everything here. "I'm too busy right now to give the camp cook lessons on hygiene."

"Well, somebody should—"

"_Not you_." House showed Wilson his hand, with its light covering of dirt. "Get used to it or you'll go out of your mind. Especially a clean freak like you." He picked up a piece of bacon and chewed on it. Johanna and Semple were looking at them, and also whispering. House doubted it was about the unhealthy conditions they were in.

#################################################################

By the time the tent camp had been set up and food served, the sun was fading in the sky. Semple and John helped Johanna and William to their feet.

"For your Highnesses, we have reserved the finest accommodations our poor band can provide. You shall have cots, fur blankets, and you, dear lady," Semple said, "shall have a mirror. And a brush."

"That's really nice of Semple to lend you his hairbrush and mirror," House said. "Maybe he could also lend you some of his whitening toothpaste."

Semple gave House a small bow. "You and your companions will have one of the smaller tents."

"My companions?"

"Dr. Dr. Est Un Debile Wilson, and her Highness's servants, both the lady and the gentleman."

_This cannot possibly end well_, House thought.


	88. Chapter 88

When House woke up to pee, it was still pitch dark. He felt musty and dirty and wished he could take a shower. Maybe he should have stayed in Wilson's bathroom long enough to freshen up. Oh, right, that would have gotten everybody else killed. Collateral damage.

He was about to shift himself up, but a soft noise across the tent stopped him.

"Ooooh…"

It was Wilson.

"_Be quiet, you'll wake the others_." Motherhips.

"Oooh…oh my god…I don't even know your name…"

"Glinda, my sweet."

Oh, fuck, Motherhips was seducing Wilson. As a woman. House suppressed a snort of laughter. He couldn't wait to rub Wilson's face in it…come to think of it, Motherhips's face was probably rubbed into…Jesus Christ taking a dump, House could only think in double entendres. He lay still, ignoring his bladder.

He could dimly make out the two of them making out. Wilson was lying down; Motherhips was lying on top of him_. How did Motherhips hide his dick? How many petticoats did the guy have on?_

The soft, wet sound of mouths and tongues drifted across the tent. To be honest, House found it kind of hot. It was like watching porn without the monitor on. Soft grunts and moans and the occasional "_Glinda, oh God_…"

Just as House was about to get up, bust them and then go drain his lizard, he saw one of them—Motherhips—sit up. Too bad House couldn't light a candle—this would be _so_ much fun to watch. For a lot of reasons. Even in this world Wilson was an easy lay.

"Be still, James," Motherhips said hoarsely. "Be still and you will feel ecstasy as you've never felt it before."

"Okay," Wilson gasped.

There was the soft sounds of buttons being undone. House idly wondered if Wilson found breeches as hard to get off—oh, fuck, another double entendre—as he had. A rustling of fabric, probably Motherhips's dress, and then silence. But not for long.

"OH!"

"_Ssssh! You'll wake them_."

Silence, then barely audible sucking and licking sounds. This was definitely hot. House rolled over on his left side, facing in the direction of the couple, to ease the pressure on his bladder. And to get a good look.

"Glinda…oh my god…_jesus fuck_…Glinda…"

"_Be kwy_." House took this to mean "be quiet," except that Motherhips was probably speaking around a mouthful of Wilson's dick. From what he had observed, Motherhips was an incredibly accomplished cocksucker. He watched their silhouettes moving in the dark, enjoying being the voyeur for a change.

Wilson's voice became oddly muffled. House realized it was because either Wilson or Motherhips had clamped a hand over his mouth. But crap, those sounds were the sounds of total and utter rapture. House thought of Johanna sucking his dick, and the memory of what had been combined with what was happening now got him extremely aroused. But he would have to man up and endure a killer case of blue balls if he wanted to wait until they finished. Which would be pretty soon, considering the muffled gargling and gasping going on across their temporary domicile. House could just barely see Wilson's hips moving and Motherhips's head bobbing

"Umph umph mumph…MUMPH MUMPH GOFF—"

"_SSH!"_

"Gliff…goff…gorph…oh goff oh goff oh goff oh goff-!"

Wilson slumped back on the ground as Motherhips sat up. Then House heard the dreaded:

"Oh my, oh my, oh, my, oh my…"

Of course they'd awakened Burton. And Burton couldn't help but revert to his old habits. Love conquered all except your kinks. There was a long silence.

Then a match flared and a candle was lit.

Wilson was frantically stuffing his dick into his breeches, rolling over on his side away from Burton and pretending to be asleep at the same time. And failing miserably. Motherhips looked innocently at Burton, and yawned.

"Hello, my darling," he said to Burton. "I had the _strangest_ dream."

"That you were fellating this complete stranger? How strange that I too had that same dream."

"Which you enjoyed greatly, Eldridge." Motherhips's voice was frosty. "Don't pretend you weren't."

"It's—it's the principal of the thing, Quincy!" Burton sat up, his hands on the ground.

"Please," said Motherhips. "How many men have you watched me service? A dozen? Two dozen? You never objected before."

"That was before I fell in love with you!" Burton drew his arms around his knees tightly. "I thought my cock was enough."

"But Eldridge, he's so very pretty. And he has such a _charming_ cock. Not as big as yours, but whose is?"

"Soothing the wounded male ego. Isn't that just like a woman?" House said, cocking an eyebrow. "Or a transvestite?"

Wilson saw House grinning at him. Wilson looked like he wanted to die.

"I'm sure his cock is completely delightful, _Glinda_."

"You called yourself Glinda? This, this intruder thinks you're a woman?"

Wilson's eyes grew very wide. But he didn't move.

"Be fair, Burton, everyone else thinks he's a woman," said House. "The entire company would gladly have him suck their cocks." He looked over at Wilson. "_Quincy _has amazing expertise. I've seen him in action. I was slightly distracted by Burton here humping my leg, but I know a good cocksucker when I see one."

"Oh, God." Wilson rolled over onto his stomach, hands covering his face.

"There's a first time for everything."

"Eldridge, please don't be angry with me," Motherhips cooed.

"I don't wish to speak to you, Glinda." Burton flopped on the ground, his back to his partner. Motherhips continued to fuss over him, while Wilson remained where he was.

House got to his feet and fetched his cane.

"Sorry to miss out on this domestic drama, but I really have to pee."

################################################################

The ashes of a campfire glowed, so House made his way over and urinated on it. Ah, the sweet relief. He still felt turned on by the whole scene in his tent. It was like the 1960s all over again. How was it that nobody ever seemed to get an STD in this burg?

"House!"

"Bwah!" House whipped around, gripping his cane. It was Johanna, in a cotton nightshift. He could see through it in the dim light of the dying campfire. Her small breasts, the darkness of her pubic hair, the slope of her neck.

"Johanna—" House couldn't stand it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. Her body thumped against his and he nearly lost his footing. But they kissed as if they wanted to crawl into each other's bodies, the pent-up frustration of days boiling over. She wrapped her arms around him, thrusting herself against his erection. He wanted to fuck her there, right by the campfire. He didn't care who saw them. Not after what he had witnessed.

House felt her body move away from his, peeling herself away.

"House—" Johanna gasped. "House—"

He moved to kiss her again, but she jerked her head back. "It's Uncle William!"

"What about Uncle William?" House suddenly forgot what they were doing. His patient was exhibiting new symptoms.

"He's vomiting and vomiting. There's blood in it. Please, come quickly!"

She grabbed his left hand and pulled him away from the campfire and into the darkness.


	89. Chapter 89

House noted how superior the royals' accommodations were. For one thing, there were rugs on the floor. However, the sour smell of vomit lowered the tone of the room.

His attention was on King William, doubled up under a rabbit fur blanket. The king was retching into a basin. When the exhausted man stopped and fell back, an attendant wiped his brow with a wet cloth. The attendant was a young boy, probably in his late adolescence, but already without half of his teeth. House was going to have to do something about the dental hygiene in this burg.

"Gimme that." House snatched away the basin and examined its contents. Johanna grabbed a man's dressing gown. As she tied it, she peered over his shoulder.

"Partly digested stomach contents, small concentration of red blood, small amount of coffee ground emesis."

"Coffee grounds?"

"Blood mixes with the gastric juices and it turns brown. Fortunately most of the blood is red."

"Please, no more emetics," the king pleaded, his voice shaking. "No more. No more."

"It's not an emetic, your Majesty, that is, it isn't for other people." He looked at the attendant. "Who gave this man red wine?"

He proffered the basin to Johanna, but she jerked her head backwards.

"I can smell it from over here, thank you."

He stirred it with his finger. "If you were closer, you could smell, beneath the fragrances of partially digested potatoes, bread, blood and stomach fluid, the distinct tang of tannin." He held his finger toward Johanna. Obviously determined not to let him win, she smelled it.

"Yuucch!"

"You reek of tannin, too. I forgot, you need to be kept away from the good stuff."

"Look who's talking," she said, speech slightly slurred.

"Who gave it to him?"

"Semple sent over a bottle," Johanna said, producing a heavy green glass bottle. House glared at her, then took the bottle and treated himself to a hefty swig. It stung his throat, too. He took another swig, then held it out of Johanna's reach.

"Is that true?" House asked the attendant.

"Yes, sir. Lord Marmaduke Semple MacPherson Bout'A Bout Des Oiseaux sent it as a gift. Am I in trouble?"

House handed him the bottle, but not before taking another swig. "Don't let his Majesty have wine, mead, ale, or any other form of liquor. I'm the king's doctor. He has ulcerative damage to his stomach lining, possibly bleeding ulcers, or at worst, stomach cancer. It's hard to tell while he's in such poor health. Cheap red wine has loads of tannin, which is an irritant." House bent over the recumbent king. Damn, he didn't have his cane, and his leg was starting to spasm.

As if she knew, Johanna was by his side. She slid her arm around his waist, helping to hold him up. "Good thing it's not _my_ abdomen that's diseased or I'd be screaming in pain from that crap."

"You're welcome," she said.

William's brown eyes opened, red and watery. "Can you give me something for the pain, Dr. House?"

"Not yet, your Majesty." To the attendant, he said: "Go to the chief cook, and get a large dram of milk. You do have milk, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." The attendant moved nervously toward the edge of the tent.

"And oil. Not mineral oil, not castor oil, but cooking oil that hasn't been used. And not lard or _any_ form of animal grease. While you're at it, find that guy, John, who hangs out with Semple. The big one. Move it!"

The boy ran out of the tent. House set the bottle on a low cabinet. He swung around to face Johanna, wincing slightly at the wine fumes on her breath. "You're cute when you're plastered," he said, and kissed her. She leaned her head into his kiss, being careful not to push him over. Her lips were soft and the wine taste would have been pleasant if it hadn't been such god-awful stuff.

"House, I brought your cane," said Wilson as he came through the entrance of the tent. "Uh—"

"Thanks." House took the cane and moved away from Johanna.

There was a silence.

Wilson broke it. "You were kissing her."

"Thank you for stating the obvious."

Wilson looked around the tent nervously, until his eyes landed on the king. "How is he?"

House repeated his diagnosis. Wilson was only half-listening. "We could cut into him, but he'd die of sepsis and it wouldn't matter what was wrong with him."

The king lay on his good side, taking long breaths.

"House," Wilson interrupted him, "where are we? Is this some bizarre dream that won't stop?"

"It gets stranger," House said regretfully. He picked up Johanna's mirror from her bedside. He moved it next to her face.

"What are you doing—" she said.

"Hold still. Wilson, look at yourself in this mirror, then look at the princess."

His head tilted cautiously to one side, Wilson stepped forward until he could see himself in the mirror. "Jesus, look at my hair! It's got mud in it!"

"Screw your hair, Wilson, look at your face, then look at hers."

Wilson did as he was told. He looked back and forth rapidly, and then slowly. His eyes widened. "There's…there's a definite resemblance." He stared at Johanna.

"Here." House reversed the mirror, holding it next to Wilson's head. Johanna stared into it.

"That's why," she said in a hushed voice. "You said I looked like him. I _do_ look like him. He could be my brother. He could be my uncle's nephew. Oh my God. Oh my _God!_ " Her hand went to her mouth and she also looked like she was going to vomit.

House looked back and forth at his two lives colliding.

"Would it help if I said Wilson doesn't have breasts?"

Johanna lurched out of the tent, still holding her mouth. House stared after her.

"What the fuck does she expect?" he snapped. "She knew we were friends, I told her she looked like you, that…" House decided not to say anymore.

"House, she could be my sister." Wilson threw his hands up in the air. "Okay, this is officially a dream. A really fucked up dream. I'll wake up and you'll be dead and I'll be in New Jersey—oh, fuck—" he opened the tent and went outside.

House looked down at the king. "Don't go anywhere. Not that you can."

##################################################################

Wilson was slogging through the mud toward their tent when House caught up with him. "Wilson—"

"You're imaginary, House. I'm going to wake up. I'm going to wake up."

"I told you, that's how I felt, but I've been here for months. I've been _here_ for as long as I've been gone _there_." He moved around until he was blocking Wilson's path. "Get used to being confused, Wilson. It is what it is."

"No, it isn't!"

"Yeah, and it's been oh so easy for me here."

"It sure has," Wilson snapped. "I walk in, and you're making out with the princess—"

"Johanna."

"Johanna." Wilson's eyes became even wider. "Oh my God, you're sleeping with _me!_"

"Well, yeah, at first, but…it's complicated."

Wilson folded his arms tightly around himself and started pacing. "Dream. Dream. Dream. Dream. Wake up, James, it's only a dream. Wake up. You can wake up from this."

"Oh, for Christ's sake." House grabbed Wilson's arm before the latter could dig a trench from pacing, whirled him around, and kissed him.

"MMPH!" Wilson flailed, nearly slipping on the wet ground.

House smelled the faint hint of mint on Wilson's breath, felt the faint stubble on his chin, his slightly dry lips. Wilson was the same height as Johanna. House snapped his head back. "Do you still think it's a dream?"

"You kissed me," Wilson said, obviously confused. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Contrast and compare." Actually, House wasn't sure why he had kissed Wilson. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the moment.

Wilson took several steps back, rubbing his mouth, staring at House. "This isn't a dream, is it? It's some sort of perverted reality—"

"I wasn't the one who got my cock sucked by a transvestite."

Wilson buried his face in his hands. "My brain is going to explode."

Whatever other turmoil was going on inside of him, House felt sorry for his friend.

"Doctor!" came a shout from direction of the king's tent. "I got the milk!"

"Come on, let's play doctor."

##############################################################

John was waiting inside the tent. The boy had gotten a jar of milk and another of oil. The king was sleeping, a slight groan escaping with each exhalation. The basin had been placed back on the ground, without emptying it. John was tall, sturdy, with large worker's hands and small sharp eyes. His chestnut hair was coarse and dull.

"You asked for me, Doctor?" His tone was not cheery.

"I want to know what your plans are. I mean, you lied to me and tried to get rid of me once, but seeing that I am now King William's personal physician, you need to cough it up. Not like the king there. Use words."

"Tomorrow we start back for the Frog and Peach. The villagers are on our side. They'll hide us while we send word that the invasion on Rutgers will begin. Some of our men have been supplying arms to the populace, but not everyone will have a gun. But our numbers will be more than enough to overcome the Prince Regent's militia."

"When do you—we—storm Rutgers?"

"When Semple gives the order." John smiled.

"The king is traveling with me in my carriage," House said. "He has to be carefully watched. Her Highness should, too."

"You might like to know that her royal Highness went to his tent and gave notice she was not to be disturbed. Now, if you will pardon me—" John left the tent.

"Boy, what's your name?"

"Marmaduke, sir."

House rolled his eyes. "Marmaduke, stand guard over the king. When we return, I'll mix the oil and milk and give you instructions on giving it to him. It'll soothe his stomach. I need to get my apothecary case."

########################################################

As the two men slogged through the campsite, House asked, "What's happened at Princeton Plainsboro since my supposed demise?"

"I told you, it was a shock. You just…weren't there. I wracked my brains, trying to think if you'd been more depressed than lately, if there was something I missed."

"How is everyone else coping?"

"Foreman's the head of the diagnostics department. There was talk of closing it, but your track record, the department's track record, was just too good. Foreman is a real tyrant. Finally out from under your giant shadow." He grinned. "He's making Chase's life hell. Chase has to do all of the departmental paperwork. Thirteen's doing great. She met a nice girl, the kind that helps you settle down. Cute too. You'd like her."

"I'd like to imagine them in bed."

"Don't think I haven't." Wilson thought for a moment. "Taub's getting a divorce."

"No surprises there."

"The surprise is, he asked for it, not Rachel."

"You're kidding. Seriously?"

"Yeah. Taub caught her in bed with another guy. Foreman made Chase take over Taub's overnight observation of a patient, Taub went home without calling first…"

House drew in a long breath. "What about Cuddy?"

"She and Lucas got married. Can you believe he converted to Judaism? But that's Cuddy, once she wants something—" Wilson paused. "Wait. Are you—_okay_—with that?"

"I'm okay. Good for Cuddy. _Mazel tov_."

Wilson glanced at him. "You want to go back, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course I do," House said, but he wasn't sure.

When they lifted the flap and walked into the tent, Motherhips and Burton were going at it so furiously they didn't notice the other two men.

"Make-up sex," House whispered to Wilson. "Like old times, except that we're standing in mud."


	90. Chapter 90

"Johanna! Get your clothes on and get out here!"

House stood in front of Semple's tent. The tent pegs were driven deep into the ground, as if it was meant to be here for a while. Semple sure had his men trained.

House had left his patient resting comfortably, with Wilson. For now, he had to wait and see what happened. Damn this place and its criminal lack of necessary medical equipment! He needed to get his mind off his patient, the first time he'd ever had to do so.

"Johanna! Don't make me come in there. I don't want to see Semple naked."

Johanna's head stuck out through the tent flap, brown eyes snapping. "Go away, House."

"Why are you in there? You should be with your uncle."

"That would mean being with you."

"Don't be an idiot. In his mind he's still in the mad house. You need to be there so he knows he's not."

"_You_ need me to be there, House. Why, I have no notion. Put a bonnet on Wilson, Uncle William will never know the difference."

Her head disappeared back into the tent.

House snapped open the tent flap and stormed in. There was one enormous bed, also covered with fur blankets. Semple sat up, bare-chested. Really, his perfection needed to be marred. House stopped himself from smacking Semple in the face with his cane.

"How dare you enter my tent?" Semple demanded.

House ignored him. His grip tightened on his cane until his hand hurt. "Johanna, don't make this about Wilson. Stop being a selfish bitch—"

"Ha!" Johanna stepped out of the tent, pulling the dressing gown over her shoulders. "You calling _me _selfish! How long have I been the spectator to you longing for Wilson, comparing me to Wilson, saying that I can never replace Wilson in your affections? Tell me I'm wrong."

House did not know what to say. "My friendship with Wilson is something you're not smart enough to understand."

"House, get out of here!" Semple demanded.

House turned on him. "Shut your fucking mouth, Prince Charming. Johanna, you know you don't love this idiot. You love me."

"Do you love me?" Her tone was challenging.

House stood silent. He couldn't say it.

"Semple loves _me._ He wants me. You don't."

He found his voice. "Are you serious?"

"Get of out of my tent, House, before I have you thrown out," thundered Semple.

House looked at Semple, then at Johanna. Without another word, he left.

#########################################################

"How'd it go?" Wilson asked when House returned. King William was still asleep.

"Pretty good. Johanna told me to fuck off and Semple had me thrown out of their tent. How's the patient?"

"I'm guessing he hasn't had a good night's sleep until tonight. He's been out cold." Wilson gazed down at the sleeping man. "I need to make a call." He started searching his pockets. "I can't find my cell phone."

"They don't exist here." House was getting _really_ annoyed by his friend's consistent failure to grasp what had happened.

"You're kidding. Is there a phone booth around here? A gas station?"

"No and no. Wilson, there's no electricity, no telephones, no washing machines, no CAT scans, no centrifuges, you name it, it's not here." House slowly lowered himself to the carpet. "Including chairs."

Wilson joined him. "House, how have you been able to stand it? Have you tried to go back?"

"If this was a fairy tale, I would have found my way back through the magical medicine cabinet. No. The only time I was back was when I grabbed you." House paused. "Nothing makes logical sense here. Not why I'm here, not why you're here, why Joanna looks like you…I keep trying but I can't find the logic."

"You came back to find me. There _has_ to be a reason for that."

"Yeah, we were all going to die. Maybe if I killed myself I'd be back at the hospital. The only problem is, for the first time in my life, I don't want to die. It's not Johanna, I don't know what it is." House closed his eyes. "If this was a magical kingdom and all of my wishes were granted, my leg wouldn't hurt."

King William stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He turned his head. When he saw House and Wilson, he started and scrabbled back across the bed. "Who are you?" he demanded of Wilson. "What are you going to do to me?" He glared at House. "You told me things were different!"

"They are, William. Don't you remember? This is Dr. Est Un—"

"Dr. Wilson," Wilson interrupted. "I'm Dr. Wilson. I'm here to help Dr. House. I'm not here to hurt you, your Majesty. You're safe."

William relaxed slightly, eyes darting from one doctor to the other. "Yes, I remember you now. The man who won't eat with his hands." He smiled. "I have not had the luxury of using utensils since those bastards took me away."

House signaled Marmaduke to bring the bottle of milk and oil over, then poured some of it into a cup.

"Drink this, it'll soothe your stomach."

"Thank you." Accepting the cup, the king took a large gulp. Suddenly he sat up and threw the cup across the tent, spraying the contents everywhere.

"You're trying to poison me!" he yelled. "_Help!_"

"Shut up! We're not trying to poison you, you moron, we're trying to get you better."

Marmaduke started to leave the tent.

"Stay where you are, you toothless half-wit!" House barked.

"Yes, sir." Marmaduke let his arms drop to his sides, practically standing at attention.

William scowled. "The devil you are. That's what they gave me at the palace, and then at the asylum. Do you take me for a fool? That's poison!"

"No, it's just milk and oil—" said Wilson.

"Wait," said House. "You were served milk and oil at the palace? Why?"

"Stomach ache. My insides burned if as they were being cauterized by a red-hot iron. I screamed in agony, but Dr. Moore told me it would cure the stomach ache. It only got worse. I was certain that death was coming, and I called out to my Maker to take me, if only it would make the pain stop." William's voice trembled. "Delirium overtook me. That was when Dr. Harville's men came for me. They bound my arms and legs with leather straps…" he stopped.

"Who was Dr. Moore?" asked House.

"He was a physician who attended to diseases of the stomach and internal organs. My personal physician held him in high esteem. But it—" William's face twisted into a grimace. "The pain drove me mad. And then that place…it was my belief that I had died and gone to Hell."

Wilson turned to House. "He was poisoned with milk and oil?"

"No, arsenic. In small doses. He was fed something to upset his stomach, but the cure was more deadly than food poisoning. Dr. Harville was probably instructed to keep giving him the stuff. Not enough to kill him. That's the part I don't understand."

"Was that when the Prince Regent took the throne? Forgive me if my information isn't up to date, I haven't been around long enough."

House stared at him. "No, it wasn't. The king's brother was crowned king. It was a few years after his reign began that he and the queen suffered some mystery illness—hell, this environment has hundreds of things that can take you out—and they died. No autopsies, of course. If they had died too soon after William was poisoned, the finger would point directly at Louis. And if William died instead of being put in a mental ward, any intelligent human being would have put two and two together. Unfortunately this place suffers from a profound lack of intelligent human beings." House spoke to William: "I'm going to get you well just to spite the asshole. You have to man up and drink that stuff. Marmaduke, pour another cup of milk and oil."

"No!"

Marmaduke shakily handed House the cup. House chugged it down.

"I learned to do that in medical school. It's the only practical thing I learned in medical—"

House's eyes widened.

He clutched at his stomach, and fell over onto the ground.


	91. Chapter 91

"_Psych_!" House quickly sat up, grinning.

William's eyes bulged. "It's a miracle!"

"You see, your Majesty? Perfectly safe. Safer than whatever alcoholic-laced crap you were fed by your wet nurse."

"House, you could've given your patient a heart attack!" Wilson snapped.

"Nobody here has a sense of humor," House exclaimed in exasperation. "That would have been _boffo _back at the palace. I have demonstrated that the mixture, while disgusting, is completely safe. If I can gag it down, so can you."

"Jesus, House." Wilson rolled his eyes. "My apologies, your Majesty, Dr. House likes to kid around—I mean, he, uh—how the hell do they say that here?"

"I enjoy buffoonery, your Majesty. As opposed to my colleague, who is a buffoon." House waggled his eyebrows at Wilson. "Drink up now, you don't want that stuff to congeal."

Keeping a wary eye on House, the king took the cup and sipped it. After waiting a moment, he sipped the oily mixture again. "It does help," he admitted.

"Good. Marmaduke, see that his Majesty gags the whole thing down. You can do that much, can't you?"

"Yes, sir." House could tell that Marmaduke disliked him, but frankly, House didn't give a shit.

"Come on, Wilson, let's get some sleep."

############################################################

Motherhips and Burton were snoring peacefully as House and Wilson crept into their tent.

"Why can't we have beds?" Wilson whispered.

"Let's just say I'm not well thought of around here," House answered.

Wilson lay down on the rough blanket on the ground, grumbling to himself and trying to find a comfortable position.

House lay down on his blanket, swallowing two eth cakes to ease the spasming in his leg, and to help him sleep. His mind wandered, thinking over what could be wrong with King William. It could be a bleeding ulcer. Mallory-Weiss tear from emesis. Worst case scenario, stomach cancer. Or simple ulcerative damage from the arsenic. Not to mention whatever they had fed him at Keddlestone.

He couldn't sleep. Something was missing.

Johanna. Damn it, he could never sleep properly if she wasn't beside him. Particularly when he knew she was with someone else. Particularly Semple. House fought off the mental images of Johanna and Semple together, her naked body arching with pleasure, her eyes half-closed…shit. Her broad back with its silken skin, the dip of her waist, her strong buttocks pressed against him…House felt a big body-shaped void next to him. He wanted her back, but he couldn't bring himself to give her what she wanted. He didn't even know if he was capable of giving Johanna what she wanted. If what she wanted was what a medical school friend used to call disdainfully, "True Love And Real Romance."

He could hear Wilson's deep, regular breathing. His back was to House.

_This is insane_, House thought, but he slowly pulled himself along the ground, trying not to make a sound, until he was lying next to Wilson. Wilson didn't stir. House edged closer, until there was only an inch between them.

As tentatively as he could, House reached over Wilson, gently reached his arm over his friend's waist, then lowered it until he was holding Wilson. Wilson made a little happy noise and snuggled backwards into House.

Unexpectedly, a huge wave of grief swept over him, almost as excruciating as when he had first arrived here, the loss of his friend and everything he knew, the horrible feeling of being utterly alone. He wanted to cry, but choked back the sobs rising in his throat and lay still.

At last, still holding his best friend, House fell asleep. He'd deal with the consequences in the morning.

########################################################

"House?" The voice was soft and baffled.

House's eyes snapped open. He was staring directly into Wilson's eyes.

"House, what are you doing?"

"I was…cold?" House thought he had never been so mortified in his life.

"You're holding me." Wilson was facing him, their bodies lying against each other. "Why are you holding me?"

"I was…cold?" House repeated. His brain had stopped working.

"Does this have something to do with your kissing me? Does this have something to do with Johanna's looking like me? Because if it is, that is _seriously_ screwed up." Wilson continued to stare at him, but he did not move. The air between them was charged.

The staring contest went on for what seemed like an eternity. Wilson's head descended to the gray wool blanket, his eyes still boring into House's. "What do you want from me, House?"

"I don't know," House answered honestly. He gently leaned forward, his lips brushing Wilson's. Wilson closed his eyes and let House kiss him, his own mouth shut, his body rigid with tension. House knew that Wilson was only tolerating this, but House had to _know_; how far he could push this, how this made him feel. Wilson relaxed ever so slightly, his mouth still shut, and his groin pressed against his friend's.

Wilson was getting hard. No other part of him was responding except his groin. House pushed gently against Wilson's crotch, feeling the bulge in Wilson's tweed breeches, feeling the answering of his own arousal.

Eyes still closed, Wilson opened his mouth and let House kiss him more intensely, moving against House so softly House could have been imagining it. House put his arm around Wilson, pulling him even nearer.

Then Wilson hastily pushed away from his friend, looking anywhere but at House. He pushed House hard on the chest. "_Seriously_ screwed up," Wilson gasped. "I've landed in some kind of game you're playing with—with—"

"Johanna." If only the ground could open and swallow him. "It's not a game."

"Then I'm right. This is _seriously_ screwed up." Wilson sat up.

"I got that the first time."

"God, my suit is covered in dirt."

It seemed to House that Wilson was brushing the dirt off of himself just a tad too vigorously.


	92. Chapter 92

There were four occupants in the carriage:

Johanna;

King William, wrapped in a heavy cloak, lying across her lap;

Semple;

And House.

Burton was up on the box, but without Motherhips. When the trip was getting underway, Wilson had come rushing up to the carriage window.

"House! They want to me to ride in the back of one of the supply wagons!" Wilson cried.

"You do not have a horse, Dr. Wilson," said Semple, glaring down at him. "Please comply with my instructions so that we may leave with the required haste."

"I'll accompany you, Dr. Wilson," said Motherhips, appearing out of nowhere. He took Wilson's arm, smiling sweetly at him.

"But—" House said.

"There's no room for her Highness's lady-in-waiting, House." Semple's tone brooked no argument. "If she wants to ride with Dr. Wilson, than she shall."

"Thank you, milord!" Motherhips bobbed a curtsey, then turned the protesting Wilson around to walk down to the other end of the procession.

That had been the extent of the conversation for the rest of the trip. House slid his left foot under Johanna's skirt, but she kicked him away with a bit more force than necessary. She stroked her uncle's hair. There had been some concern that the king was too weak to make the trip. The morning sunlight highlighted his overall pallor and the pastiness of his flesh. His long, gaunt fingers rarely stopped moving, even when he dozed. The hands kept kneading, first one, than the other, almost hypnotic in their rhythm. The only time they were still was when Johanna slid her hand between his.

House had no distraction from his churning thoughts. Like the king's hands, his mind kept going over the same themes and images without stopping. The desire he had to push King William to the floor and ravish Johanna right there. He kept trying not to look at her, but he was so painfully aware of her sitting across from him he could hardly stand it. The shifting shadows and sunlight upon her hair and skin, her broad shoulders in the ragged dimity dress she'd been wearing for days; her soft, rosy lips.

And then Wilson. His best friend was here, in this world, and it was throwing everything off. Exactly what, he could not say, but the axis had been tilted and House did not know how it was all supposed to fit together. Or even what "it" meant. When he thought kissing Johanna, he was aroused. When he thought about kissing Wilson, he was aroused. But what it because Wilson resembled Johanna, or because Johanna resembled Wilson? It had all been sorting out, and then…

This was why he despised being vulnerable. There was no way around it; it hurt. It hurt losing Wilson, the prospect of losing Johanna hurt, it hurt to see Wilson bewildered and frightened, it hurt to see Johanna in such pain. It hurt to see her with Semple.

Thank God King William was different. He was a patient.

###################################################

One thing to be said for the rebels, they were highly efficient. Once a suitable spot in the woods was found, the setting up of large heavy canvas tents began, supplies were rolled out, men everywhere worked hard to build fires before the sun went down. The air was starting to turn crisp. House breathed it in, and tried to remember how long he had been here. It was early summer, he guessed. Why had he never thought to ask?

Semple ordered two of his men to carry the king to his tent, and handed down Johanna from the carriage. He made no such offer to House. However, Burton scrambled down and helped him. Burton looked in the carriage.

"Where's Quincy?" he asked, frowning.

"The object of your passion seems to transferred his volatile affections to Wilson. They rode together in one of the supply wagons." House grinned, enjoying Burton's dismay.

"How—he—there is going to be the devil to pay, House, mark my words! Do you think Quincy can have his head turned by a pair of pretty brown eyes?"

"It happened to me, Burton."

"But that was her Highness. This is different. Begging your pardon, House, but Quincy and I are soul mates. We were meant to be together. No flouncy fop is going to come between us." Burton took off in the direction of the supply wagons. House snorted. If only he could limp fast enough to see the fireworks. That reminded him, it was time for some eth cakes.

House didn't need to limp fast enough. He saw Wilson tearing towards him, Burton in pursuit, Motherhips trailing them, lifting his skirts to avoid the mud.

"Eldridge, please! Nothing of any consequence occurred between the doctor and I!" Motherhips cried.

"Oh? You call kissing him nothing? First fellatio, now _osculation_?"

_Interesting set of priorities,_ House thought.

Wilson caught up to House. "I—I don't know what came over me."

"It's not what, it's who. My bet is on Motherhips." House leaned against the carriage, smiling.

"She's—he's—well, I don't know." Wilson extended his arms in bewilderment. "What is it about this place that makes a man kiss a man?"

"It's the world's biggest gay bar?"

"James, it was merely the whim of the moment," Motherhips said. He turned to Burton. "You know that you alone have my undying love, even though I may share my—lips—with others."

"I haven't tried anything with other men!" Burton shouted.

"But you didn't _before_ you met me!" Motherhips shouted back. "You only tried activities with _yourself_, as I recall."

"But you're my _wife_!" The two of them stormed off, arguing.

Wilson stared after them. "What are they talking about? Is gay marriage legal here?"

"No. Long, long story. So, how was she?" House leaned in with a leer.

"He. He _really_ knows how to kiss. If I'd met him in high school-wait a minute, why am I discussing kissing a man with _you,_ of all people?"

"Why, am I the first man you kissed?"

"You kissed _me_, House!"

"And you fought so hard for your honor, Missy."

Wilson put his hands on his hips. "And now I'm making out with a transvestite. Just great. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be—I don't know—I wouldn't be acting _gay_!"

"Best acting I've ever seen. You're not gay, Wilson. The term is 'sexually omnivorous.'"

"But-but-you gave me a hard-on, House!"

"You'd get a hard-on at the Westminster Dog Show if the Great Dane swung its hips around the ring." House started limping away. "This is getting boring."

"This—you're only seducing me because of Johanna. How messed up is _that_? You can't run away from this, House."

House turned back. "Neither can you."

"Just stay on your side of the tent tonight." Wilson shook his head. "How's the patient?"

"He made the trip okay. No more bloody vomit, but no stool either. His PTSD is getting worse the longer he's away from Keddlestone. Self-soothing obsessive behavior, dissociation, lack of affect—it's a major backslide from the other day."

"What do you expect? You told me he was beaten, tortured and starved in an asylum for decades; he's not going to snap out of it any time soon. And now he's not in a stable situation. He's being moved every day. How can he get a sense of place? If it was our time, he'd be hospitalized, given a CAT scan, an endoscopy, fluids, maybe a feeding tube—"

"We're not in our time," House snapped. "Instead of the ICU, he's being bounced around in a rattletrap carriage Kaspar Hauser wouldn't be caught dead in. I'm feeding him chicken blood and pigs' thyroids for anemia and possible hypothyroidism. William's also probably suffering from an iodine deficiency, but there's no fish around here. When we reach the next village tomorrow, I'm raiding the physician's office for any equipment I can find. A microscope and some hypodermic needle would make my life ten times easier. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to stuff another pig thyroid down his throat."

"I should come with you—"

"Not _now._"

###########################################################

"SSssssh." Johanna was sitting on the bed, William's head again in her lap. Marmaduke was again standing watch.

"They'll put me in the restraining chair! Why did they take off my straight waistcoat? They only do that to put me in the restraining chair!" William's eyes were wild. When he saw House, he started. "Who is this?"

"Don't you remember, Uncle? This is your doctor. He freed you from Keddlestone."

"Cell Number 86. Cell Number 86. Don't put me in the restraining chair! I'll be good."

Johanna looked up at House. "What can I do? He barely remembers who _I_ am. Why has he gotten so much worse?"

"He'll get worse, he'll get better. The ideal is that the better outweighs the worse. Or you've got a whimpering lunatic on your hands, which gets old fast." House leaned down and stared into William's face.

"WILLIAM!" he yelled.

The king jumped and whimpered.

"WILLIAM! WHERE ARE YOU? YOU ARE **NOT** IN KEDDLESTONE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"You're frightening him!" Johanna was starting to get that dangerous look in her eyes. Great, now she was going to go all mother-tiger on his ass.

"WILLIAM! Shut up, I'm getting his attention. William, you are not in Keddlestone. Come back! Everything is going to be—oh, hell, Johanna, you're better at mouthing stupid platitudes than me, go for it."

"Thank you _so_ much. Uncle William, it's me, it's Johanna. You know me, don't you?"

William looked up at her, his face still fearful. "Yes. You're my niece. You're my brother's daughter."

"And you're not in Keddlestone. We're taking good care of you, Uncle. We want you to get well. That's the most important thing, that you get well. You have to trust your doctor. He's _not_ an asylum doctor. He is—" she gagged slightly on the words—"kind, gentle. Dr. House has only your welfare and comfort in mind."

"I also have visions of you naked, but I don't think that's going to help your uncle. Or maybe it will. Didn't one of your cousins play with your breasts?"

"That was my _third_ cousin, and it was only the once. Stop thinking about me naked this instant!"

"You win, I'll stop. I'll think about _us _naked instead."

"No! _No naked_! I mean, no nudity! Not in front of my uncle!"

"Then how about we go outside and get naked there? How long has it been, Johanna? Oh, yes, we were on a horse—"

"Is that really so?" asked Marmaduke, leering. "How?"

"I order you to be silent!" Johanna's blush, as ever, was furiously red, from her hairline to her chest. "I am endeavoring to forget that ever happened, House."

"How about the other two thousand times we had sex?" House glanced at Marmaduke. "Believe me, Marmaduke, her Highness is an _animal_." He gave a broad wink. Marmaduke giggled.

"I order you not to giggle!" Johanna covered her uncle's ears. "My God, House, can't you behave appropriately anywhere?"

"Let me think. He paused. "No. Marmaduke, I order you to stand outside. If anyone approaches, whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you? Just put your lips together, and blow." Of course Marmaduke wouldn't get the Lauren Bacall reference, but he did as he was told.

As soon as the boy was outside, House sat down on the bed next to Johanna. His side bumped against hers, setting off a depth charge in his groin. He gave William's head a light pat, as if he were a fussy headwaiter arranging flowers. "Yes, I'm a _very _good doctor, your Majesty, aren't you lucky," he said in an overly sweet voice. "Your moron of a niece doesn't appreciate that, hmmm?"

The king's face had shuttered, his gazed fixed inward. He was gone again to his private hell, or heaven.

"But then she's even more superficial than I thought. Which is amazingly superficial. White teeth, blond hair and her legs are wiiiiiide open."

"_House_!"

"It's all right, he's not taking any of it in." House looked down at William. It was true, William was mentally somewhere else. House lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Johanna, I want to fuck you so bad I can taste it."

He felt her give an involuntary shudder. "Don't say that, House."

"You want me to fuck you. You want me to fuck you senseless. Unless I miss my guess, you miss my dick."

She closed her eyes. "Stop it."

"Making love in the water. Remember, Johanna? You took my shoes off in the lake. You offered to teach me to swim." House was reveling in making her suffer.

"Yes. Please, stop it. You know I can't get up." She fingered a lock of her uncle's hair. "I can't leave him alone or I would go before you could utter one more word."

"I know." House leaned toward her, tears in his eyes. "That's why I want you to remember all the times we had sex, all the times we made out, all the times I made you scream with ecstasy. Johanna, I called you my bitch and you _loved_ it."

"House, why are you doing this?"

"Remember the night before your engagement party, when you dry-humped me and then left me there because you were going to marry Mr. Potato-Head? When you're in bed with Semple tonight, you'll be thinking about me. Marmaduke!"

"Yes, sir?" Marmaduke was obviously disappointed that everyone was still fully clothed.

"I'll be back later to check on the patient. I need to find some grub. Or grubs, considering what you people eat."

He stepped outside, a sense of triumph mingled with utter disgust at himself.


	93. Chapter 93

"HOUSE!"

Wilson was storming toward him, holding a turkey drumstick.

"Oh, not you, too. That crazy bitch gave me enough of a hard time. And I don't mean the fun kind."

Wilson was shaking with fury. Uh-oh.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" He reached for the turkey leg, but Wilson snatched it out of his reach.

"You don't get to do that, House. Not anymore. Not after what you've done to me." Wilson's expression was mingled hurt and rage. "You've never apologized for just—disappearing!"

"There's nothing to apologize for." House looked away. "It happened."

"I was in _mourning_, for God's sake! I asked myself over and over: could I have said something, could I have missed some sign, maybe, maybe I was too preoccupied to notice the shape you were in after you left Mayfield—do you know what that does to a person? To lose your best friend and think it might be _your fault?_"

"There isn't any fault. I didn't ask to be here." House turned back, giving Wilson a stony glare.

"You were my BEST FRIEND! Twenty years of friendship means so little to you that you can't take a minute for a fucking apology? Or even to ask _how I am_?"

"I did—"

"No, you didn't! I'm just supposed to somehow go along with whatever fanatical plan is going on, let you treat me like that girlfriend of yours—"

"She's not my gi—"

"Shut up, House!" Wilson looked down at the turkey leg in his hand. "I don't give a damn about whatever twisted Rubik's cube of a relationship you have with her. Our friendship didn't mean enough to you for you to…I don't know…goddamnit, you might have thought about somebody besides yourself. But when have you ever done _that_?" He looked off to the side and laughed sadly. "I don't even know who you _are_, House."

House was sandbagged. Everything Wilson said was true. He recalled the conversation about everyone back at PPTH. Wilson had updated him on everyone else. Except Wilson himself. House looked away. He couldn't look at his friend.

He gripped his cane. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Wilson." House felt Wilson's eyes on him, but he kept his head averted.

"Maybe not, but you _did._ You have no idea how badly." Wilson let the turkey leg drop from his hand into House's sightline. Wilson put his foot on the piece of meat and ground it into the earth. "_That's_ how much. Now, you order me around like a nurse. No, even a nurse—a janitor."

House bent down, grunting with pain, and picked up the drumstick from the ground. Looking at Wilson, House brushed off some of the dirt, and bit into the turkey leg. "I'm eating dirt _and_ eating crow at the same time," he said, mouth full. He managed to swallow. "Yum, good gravel."

"You're the next Lou Costello."

House paused. "I'm sorry, Wilson. I'm more sorry than you know. For months…" he hesitated. "I missed you." He let the meat fall back to the ground.

"Then why?"

House thought for a few minutes. "I couldn't…go through that again." He looked at Wilson. "I lost you. I lost everything, but most of all, I lost you. Now you're here, and it's all so convoluted…you're right, I'm _not_ the same." He couldn't help his voice from shaking. He watched his friend carefully. "I've killed people, Wilson. And not accidentally. I'm a doctor and I've shot people. You know the oath, first, do no harm? Here, it's second, don't get killed." He let out a long breath.

"You had to, House. I can't condone it, but you had to."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this. If I'd known better, I would have come back without you."

"Come back?"

"Or stayed there. But I made a choice, and you're suffering the consequences."

"Damn straight. And Johanna is not me, and I'm not Johanna."

"I'll say. You're a lousy kisser." House shook two eth cakes from his bottle and dry-swallowed them. "Besides, she doesn't give a damn about my drug use. She used to lecture me like crazy. Unlike _you_, she gave up."

"But you don't even know what that stuff's made of—"

"Booorrrring." House smiled at Wilson. "_God,_ I've missed being lectured by you, Wilson."

"I've missed lecturing you. From the sound of it, I'll have plenty more to lecture you about."

"Hungry?"

"Well, now that my dinner's on the ground-"

"There is one perk to being with the rebels. You don't have to pay for the food."

Side by side, they walked to the cooking area.

#############################################################

When they returned to the king's tent, Johanna sat opposite the king on her own bed, cleaning a pistol. "It's not loaded," she said quickly. As always, Marmaduke was there, although he had found a footstool to sit on.

"How's the patient?" House asked.

King William was sleeping again, an uneasy sleep. House watched him closely, but it was not symptomatic of anything that he could see.

"I think he's slightly better. And he defecated. I have the basin here. Marmaduke?"

Marmaduke went across the tent and fetched the same basin the king had been puking in earlier. It had not been cleaned very well. Bits of vomit were stuck to the edges.

"You're the stool doctor, Wilson, have at it." House took the basin from Marmaduke. There were several stools: small, hard, and dark brown.

"Did he strain much?" Wilson asked Johanna, shooting House a look for calling him 'the stool doctor'.

"Yes, he did. It seemed to cause him pain, but not as much as the vomiting. What does it mean?"

"The small amount can be easily explained by the lack of food the patient's been given since we sprang him from the asylum," House answered. "The hardness is probably from a combination of mild dehydration and colonic inertia from the vast amount of laxatives they shoved down him. Frankly, I'm amazed this guy can crap at all. Has he been holding everything down?"

"Yes. House, is he ever going to regain who he was? He deserves to be on the throne again." Johanna's brow furrowed. "My uncle was a happy man. Not this pathetic creature."

Wilson sat down gently on the bed beside her. She immediately moved several inches away. He motioned House to stay silent, probably knowing that House would say the wrong thing. House again found it disconcerting to see them together, even more so when they were next to each other.

"Your uncle is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder," Wilson began.

"They don't know what that is, Wilson," House interrupted.

"House," Wilson said, a warning in his voice. "Your Highness, the events your uncle has been through might leave him as scarred on the inside as he is on the outside. Whether or not he can overcome what he's been through depends on many variables—I mean, a lot of things. He needs constant reassurance that he's safe now."

"He's safe until the local yeomanry tries to murder us again."

"_House_…what I'm trying to say is that anything might trigger his fear and we don't know what those things are. We can extrapolate from what he went through at—where was it?"

"Keddlestone," House replied.

"It was a horrible place," said Johanna, wrapping her arms around herself. She had not looked at House since they entered the tent, and she only glanced at Wilson. For the most part she kept her eyes fixed on her uncle. "When we found him, he was tied to the wall in a straight waistcoat. He could only walk a few feet in any direction, and I don't think they ever untied him and let him lie down." Tears started in her brown eyes, so disconcertingly like Wilson's. "It was entering the pits of Hell. Lunatics screaming and dancing and-the floor of his cell was strewn with his own waste. Uncle William was covered with it as well. When we first had him out, he seemed himself. He even fought us when we bathed him." She looked directly at Wilson for the first time. "You saw him the night Semple arrived. He was _the king_. He was the man I remembered. I don't know what made him revert to this state." Despite her tears, her voice remained steady. "I love him, Dr. Wilson, and wish to help him, but what can I do? I'm so _tired_."

"The first thing you have to do is to find someone else to look after him," House said. "My vote is for Motherhips and Burton. He knows who they are. It also helps that they've been servants all of their lives. Marmaduke here is good for brainless tasks that any RN could do, but _Glinda_ is very nurturing, wouldn't you say so, Wilson?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Okay, House."

"Great. I'll go get them. Unless you two—" House gestured back and forth slightly. "Don't have a catfight until I come back. I don't want to miss the fun."

"Was he always like this?" House heard Johanna ask as he stepped outside.

"You have no idea," said Wilson.


	94. Chapter 94

John was right. Once the rebels had reached the large village where the Frog & Peach was located, they scattered like ants. Many were hidden by the villagers in their houses, barns and shops. However, the others were going to be lodged at the inn.

The journey had been bumpy in more ways than one. House had returned to the royal tent to find Wilson at one end, Johanna at the end, a broken oil jar on the ground near Wilson. Seems they weren't going to be best buds after all.

"She threw a JAR at me, House!"

"This popinjay's insolence will be _punished_." Johanna folded her arms. Turned out Wilson had told Johanna not to hurt House by sleeping with Semple. It had escalated to a shouting match, ending in Johanna heaving the jar at Wilson. As she was about to storm out, Motherhips and Burton came in.

"We are at your service, your Highness," Burton said.

Johanna looked at Motherhips. "That's _MY_ dress!" And it was. The brown checked dress House had seen Johanna walking with Mr. Potato-Head in. Another scene broke out, this time Johanna pulling off Motherhips's dress. Burton was sent running for a substitute before anyone else saw that his wife was a man. Motherhips collapsed on Johanna's bed (or what should have been Johanna's bed if she hadn't been sleeping with Semple), weeping, while Johanna calmly donned the outfit.

"Her Highness is manlier than you, Mom-Ass," House remarked. Throughout, the king seemed oddly serene. Of course. William was more used to noise and shouting than calm.

"Shut up, House!" Johanna exclaimed. "Motherhips, fasten my dress, and that is an order!"

"You've been a _great_ influence on her, House," Wilson observed from his side of the tent.

"You shut up too!" she squalled.

It was in that spirit of camaraderie that the party arrived in the village. Wilson again had to ride in the supply wagon. Burton commanded Motherhips to ride beside him in the drivers' seat. Motherhips was back in his blue beribboned dress and more than a bit miffed.

The only bright spot, for House, was that William took more notice of his surroundings as the carriage rattled along. His color was marginally better. His affect was more in the present.

House again had to don a long cloak to hide his cane and limp as much as possible.

At the inn, Wilson saw one of those damn signs.

**REWARD**

By order of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent

For the capture of the scoundrels who plotted the

**COWARDLY ABDUCTION OF**

**HER ROYAL HIGHNESS JOHANNA**

OF PRINCETON-ON- SEA

**STOLEN ON SUNDAY**

**FROM THE ROYAL PALACE**

_Abductor is one_

CAPTAIN MARMADUKE RAPPORTS SEXUELS AVEC DES CANARDS DE LA FONTAINE

ALSO KNOWN AS JOHN DOE

_Military captain, six foot high, age indeterminate, walks with a pronounced limp_

REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO THE CAPTURE OF THIS MONSTER

Henry Piggott, Agent

"Holy crap, House, you're a wanted man!" Wilson whispered. Then he chuckled. "Your name is even worse than mine."

"Everybody here is named Marmaduke."

"I meant the part about—"

"I know what part you meant." House watched Semple converse with Peach, the innkeeper. Peach peered over Semple's shoulder at them. After a few minutes, Semple joined the others.

"You have your rooms," Semple said. "Her Highness and his Majesty will be in one of the large backrooms, hidden from the other guests."

"I'll be in there, too. The king is my patient, and since the communications systems here haven't even evolved to two cups and a piece of string, I need to be nearby."

Semple gave House a long, chilly stare. "There is a servant's room behind. Share it with Dr. Wilson. Her Highness's attendants will stay in the servants' quarters." With a slight bow, he took Johanna's hand. "Your Highness, I shall be in the room directly above yours."

"I feel so safe, Lord Oiseaux." Johanna smiled at him, and he gave a sweeping bow. Asshole.

#########################################################

Once they were settled, House saw to it that King William was given a simple dinner: bread, part of a potato, and a cup of milk. The king still crammed food into his mouth as if he was fighting a hungry mob for it. House watched his patient carefully for any signs of pain or abdominal cramping. But there was none.

Wilson busied himself making up the pallet beds in the servants' room. It was obvious he wanted to stay as far away from Johanna as he could, and vice versa.

"Damn beds are as hard as rocks," Wilson's voice came from the other room.

"Be glad we're got floor instead of mud under our feet," House said, using a candle to look into William's eyes. "William, do you know where you are?"

"I'm at an inn. You and Johanna brought me here." The king smiled. "It is ever so pleasant not to be tied up. I can't remember the last time I saw all of the sky at once."

############################################################

It was far into the night when House heard the door to the main room open, then close. He got up painfully, almost tripping on the apothecary case, and looked into the main room. King William slept, but Johanna was gone.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps, a door, and then bedsprings creaking. Bitch! She was sneaking into Semple's room. House bet Semple didn't have three other people in there with him.

House went back to the cramped room he and Wilson shared, and lay down, his thigh throbbing. But he still heard the bedsprings. In fact, they could have been in the next room. There was murmured conversation, then more bedsprings creaking. Suddenly Semple grunted loudly.

It was more than House could stand. He sat up and looked at the ceiling. "Shut up, you two! Normal people are trying to sleep down here!"

"Be quiet, House!" came Johanna's muffled voice. More creaking, and then a loud blissful cry: "Aaaaah, Semple!" More grunts and cries followed.

_I'm not taking this lying down_, House thought furiously. Reaching over, he shook Wilson. "Wilson! Wake up! Wilson!"

Wilson shook his head. "What? Is it the king?"

"No. You're going to have sex with me, right now."

"I am?"

"Not real sex, stupid. But we're going to make enough noise in here to make those two idiots upstairs think we are. Do you know how to squeal like a pig?"

"This is ridiculous." Wilson winced at a particularly loud exclamation from Johanna. "Maybe Semple is that good in bed."

"Squeal or I'll bash in your head with my cane."

Wilson made a little moaning noise.

"Not that! Imagine Motherhips is sucking your dick. But say my name."

Wilson rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. "Oooooh! OOOOH, HOUSE!"

"Yes!" House shouted. "Yes! Give it to me, you brown-eyed monster!"

"Oooh… Oooh?"

From above they could hear Johanna crying out louder, making sure to work Semple's name into each yawp. "Is that the best you can do?" House snarled.

"I feel embarrassed," Wilson sputtered. "I mean, fake sex with _you_?"

"You're a lousy actor. All right, let's go for the X-rated version."

House undid the buttons of Wilson's tweed britches, reached in and pulled out Wilson's penis.

"Hey!"

House gave him a sardonic look. "Don't pretend you're a virgin. Start yelling."

"But that's my dick!"

"Thank you for stating the obvious." With that, House closed his hand around Wilson's cock and started jerking him off.

"House—no—no—no—oh, wow!"

"That's better," House said with a grin.

"Semple, my darling!" came Johanna's voice. Definitely an angry edge to it.

Actually, watching Wilson's eyes widen and the expression of complete astonishment on his face was getting House hot. And his best friend had an impressively sized cock. Who would divorce a cock like that?

"WILSON, WILSON, WILSON!" House shouted, putting real feeling into it.

"Oh, jesus, oh jesus, god that feels good—no, wait, it _hurts_, it's too dry." Wilson stopped. House and Wilson looked at each other.

"Like you've never sucked a cock before," House sneered. He leaned over and took his friend's dick into his mouth. "WIFFUN!" he yelled, his mouth full of Wilson.

"OH. MY. GOD. House, where did you learn to _do_ that?" Wilson fell back on his elbows on the bed, his head bobbing forward.

"La-er." House resumed sucking. Another helpful thing he'd learned at med school. "Screab!"

"HOUSE! _OH DEAR GOD_!"

"Semple, take me, oh, TAKE ME, TAKE ME, oh SEMPLE!"

The bedsprings above them creaked fast and rhythmically.

"OH, HOUSE!"

House was really getting off on this: pissing off Johanna and sucking off Wilson. Did that make this a threesome? His own penis was getting hard, but he had enough to deal with, blowing Wilson _and_ trying to yell to drown out Johanna _and _thump his fist against the wall to simulate a banging headboard. Shit.

Once or twice he let Wilson plop out of his mouth so he could caterwaul:

"WILSON, YOU'RE THE BEST I'VE EVER HAD! DO IT TO ME, BIG GUY!"

And:

"I'VE NEVER SEEN A COCK THIS BIG—EXCEPT MINE!"

"Oh, oh, oh, _OH, OH, OH, OH!"_ Johanna shrieked. House could barely hear Semple grunting. Apparently Semple was the strong silent type.

House sucked harder, his head bobbing up and down. Wilson tangled his fingers in House's hair, thighs gripping him, completely incoherent—but good and loud.

Slowly, House's hand moved to his own crotch, where he could feel a truly impressive hard-on getting squashed by his clothes. _Mama_, these breeches were tight! He started to undo his buttons, but Wilson's hand grabbed his and pulled it away. The hell?

"Semple, YES, YES, YES!" House heard Johanna scream, and then fall silent.

"House, oh, House, don't touch yourself, just pay attention to me, me, me, oh, FUCK! Fucking fucking FUCK! Suck it! Oh my DEAR CHRIST!"

House's eardrums nearly shattered with Wilson's howl, and his mouth was filled by a burst of cum. He let Wilson's penis fall out of his mouth and kept going with his hand, watching Wilson nearly have a seizure from his orgasm. Finally, Wilson fell back, eyes glazed.

"So, how did I do?" Wilson gasped.

"You deserve an Oscar for that performance, Wilson." House wiped his mouth. He hated swallowing cum, but he was afraid Wilson would be hurt if he spat it out.

"Working with the best makes it look easy." Wilson smiled.

House smiled back weakly. He decided to wait until Wilson was asleep to jerk himself off.


	95. Chapter 95

The first early dawn light filtered into the room where William and Johanna slept. In his linen nightshirt, House limped in and prepared to examine his patient. Johanna was asleep in her own bed, he noted. Bitch. Marmaduke slept in a chair near the back of the room.

"Your Majesty," House whispered.

"What? What?" William started up in his bed, staring around wildly. He started the kneading motion of his hands.

Marmaduke also woke up. He rubbed his eyes, looked at House, and snickered in a particularly nasty way.

"Look at me, your Majesty. You're not in Keddlestone. You're in an inn, the Frog and Peach. Do you remember who I am?"

William's panic seemed to ebb. "You're Dr. House. You're not going to put me in the restraining chair?"

House fought irritation. Couldn't the king just GET OVER his PTSD? "No, I'm not going to put you in the restraining chair." Although he sure felt like doing it. He considered going into the apothecary case and getting out the laudanum; but an unconscious king wouldn't be of any use.

He returned to their bedroom and shook Wilson awake again.

"What?" Wilson whined. "Don't suck my dick, House, I'm too tired."

"If I had a credit card you wouldn't be too tired," House said. "It's the patient. I need those hyper-developed caring muscles of yours."

Wilson slid off his bed with a resigned sigh. During the night he had taken off his breeches and wore only his long white shirt, the collar unfastened. After shoving his feet into his shoes, he followed House back into the bedroom. William was calmer, but still agitated.

"Oh, my, it's the lovebirds," Marmaduke whispered.

"Piss off, you little retard," House returned half-heartedly.

Johanna had awakened, but she had the covers pulled up to her nose, only her eyes open, watching them. When Wilson glanced at her, she shut them and gave a loud fake snore. Wilson tried to pull his shirt down lower, even though it was almost to his knees. House snorted. "Good morning, your Highness," he said. "Thanks for the opera last night."

"Thank you and Dr. Wilson for that _obscene_ yowling," she responded, keeping the covers up to her nose. "I've never heard anything more disgusting."

"You're just jealous that Wilson's dick is bigger than Semple's."

"I refuse to continue this conversation." Johanna pulled the covers over her head and rolled over, facing the wall.

Wilson dragged a chair up to the king's bedside. "Good morning, William. I'm Dr. Wilson. How are you feeling this morning?"

"Am I in truth lodging at an inn?" William asked.

"Yes. Dr. House is here, your niece Johanna is here, you're safe. Give me your hand and focus on my voice."

William reached out a trembling hand, and Wilson took it in both of his. "Dr. House needs to examine you."

"Why?"

"Because you've been treated very badly and you've been sick. We want to help you to get well. I promise, if at any time you get frightened, raise your hand. Can you do that?"

William lifted his other hand.

"Excellent. When you raise your hand, Dr. House will stop what he is doing and wait until you feel you can continue."

"Oh for God's sake, Wilson, we don't have all week!" House folded his arms in annoyance and sat down hard on Johanna's bed, on her foot.

"Ow!" she cried, pulling her foot out from under his butt. "You sat on me!"

"Not the first time," he said philosophically. "How was your joyride with Blond Beauty?"

Johanna glared at him. "_Delicious_. Maggot."

"Slut."

Wilson got the king's consent. "About damn time," House said when Wilson ceded him the chair. House quickly gave William a physical examination, listening to his chest, heart, etc.

"How is he, House?" asked Wilson.

"As before, lung function normal, heart rate normal, pulse rapid but within normal range. This is getting annoying." House placed both of his hands on the outside rib cage, and squeezed gently. William gasped in pain and raised his hand.

"Let go, House," said Wilson.

"Don't be a moron."

"We promised!"

"_You _promised. Lie down, William."

William did as he was told, his eyes wide, fixed on House's face.

"Lie still." House placed his hand over the king's abdomen and lightly palpated. "Okay, time to find that _special_ spot." House pushed his hand down harder on the king's abdomen, making his patient gasp. House deliberately moved his hand over the left side and palpated it harder.

"Please, stop!" William begged. "The pain—please—"

"House, enough!" Johanna exclaimed.

"That's the point," House snarled. "Does it hurt as much as the last time I did this? Can you remember?"

"It hurts—"

"More or less? Come on, you have a memory, does it hurt _more_ or _less_?" House was nose to nose with William, who was panting with fright.

"House!"

House looked at Wilson, who stood over him.

"You've gotten what you wanted."

"But I need to know: is the pain is better or worse!"

"It's bad enough." Wilson pushed House out of the way and sat down again in the chair by the bedside. "I'm sorry, your Majesty, Dr. House lacks—"

"Compassion," came Johanna's voice.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed. "When it hurt, was it a stabbing pain, or a throbbing pain, or a burning pain?"

William did not take his eyes off House. "A…a stabbing pain. It always burns a bit, but when he squeezed my body…" He closed his eyes. "It was as if a dagger had been plunged into my side."

"A bigger or smaller dagger?" House demanded.

The king was silent for a long moment, and again began the kneading motions with his hands. "I don't know…I don't know…smaller. I think smaller."

"So, it hurt less?"

"I don't know."

"This is useless," House said, plopping back down on Johanna's feet.

"OW!" She kicked at him. "You are devoid of human feeling. Thank God I found out in time."

"Aren't you happy you found Semple."

"And you have your precious Dr. Wilson. Was I right? Does he screw like Motherhips?" She gave him a wide grin. Wilson shot them an incredulous look.

"He screws better than Semple, if last night was any indication. Do you think I believed all of that crap? You look about as post-coital as a twelve-year-old virgin. Don't argue, I've seen you after sex. Many times."

"House, why are you saying all of this in front of the patient?" Wilson asked.

"Shut up and get dressed, I can see your knees." House glanced back. "Johanna's are shapelier. Want to show him?"

Johanna flopped back on the bed with an exasperated sigh. Wilson also sighed and went back into their room.

"So, how was it, _really_?" House asked. "That was the worst faking I've ever heard, and I've had sex with some lousy prostitutes." He let his fingers walk up her thigh.

She drew her legs up. "Be careful, your lover's in the next room."

"He's not my lover." House put on a teenage girl's voice. "He's my BFF!"

"He's your beef?"

"Close enough." House ran his hand over the blanket covering her buttocks. "Too bad your uncle is aware of his surroundings. We could have fantastic make-up sex." He felt her shudder. "When _are_ we going to have make-up sex?"

"Never," Johanna said firmly.

Marmaduke giggled.

"Shut up," House said half-heartedly.

################################################################

"I'm going to get a bath," Wilson announced, picking up his clothes. "There's going to be quite a line. Want to come with?"

"No, I'll give myself a sponge bath later," House replied, slumped on his bed. "Can you bring back a flagon of milk and oil for the patient? I'd kill for an endoscopy at this point."

"I'd kill for decent plumbing," said Wilson, gathering his shoes with his free hand. "Amazing more people aren't dead of cholera. See you, House." He nodded and closed the door.

House stared at the opposite wall and the cracks in the plaster, trying to work out how he could treat William and get him into shape to re-take the throne. That was assuming, of course, that everything worked out. Exploratory surgery would be insane when House had only the vaguest idea of what he was searching for. He picked up his cane and rhythmically tapped against the bed frame.

There was a light knock on the door.

"Go away!" House yelled.

The door opened, and Johanna peeked in. She was in a roughly woven linen man's nightshirt, probably Semple's.

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you." Her tone was tentative.

"Right, we haven't played _enough_ games with each other. "Go away."

Instead of following instructions, she sat down on Wilson's bed, facing House. "You're the only person that I know will be honest with me, House." Her hair was almost down to her shoulder blades by now.

"Semple's a moron—"

"That's not what I mean. It's the rebellion. Do you in fact think they have a chance against Prince Louis? Our—their—our army is large and well-equipped."

House sighed, and rested his chin on his cane handle. "Do you want me to be honest with you?"

"Please."

"They don't have a chance. The rebels will be wiped out as soon as they reach the edge of the city, if not before. The Prince's troops will charge into the rebels on horseback, slicing as many as they can up. And besides the cavalry charge, the troops have cannons, and more firepower than these poor bastards. Even if there were twenty times more rebels than soldiers, you're screwed. And just for the record, Semple's not attempting a rebellion, he's trying for a coup d'état. He'll place you on the throne, if he can manage to keep you from getting killed."

She drew herself up. "They would not kill me, House. I am her Royal Highness Princess Johanna, niece of the Prince Regent."

"And he wants you dead."

"There is that." Johanna rose from Wilson's bed, and sat beside House, scooting herself against him. As always, he registered the unnerving physical affect she had on him. That feeling that she _belonged_ to him was as strong as ever. How could it be?

"Then nothing that happens matters, does it?" she asked sadly.

_No, it doesn't,_ he thought. House remembered her screams from the night before; fake though they were, the memory aroused him. She slid down a little and leaned her head on his shoulder. He buried his nose in her hair and taking a long sniff.

"I'm filling my lungs with you," he said after he exhaled. Johanna's hand slid across his nightshirt, a delectable feeling, until her arm was around him.

"I've missed you, House."

"Not as much as I've missed you." He meant it.

"What about—"

"Could we _not_ talk about Wilson for a change? Or Semple? Or us?" He tilted her head back with a light hand on her chin. Her brown eyes were soft.

"Thank God, yes." She leaned forward and kissed him gracefully, her lips warm and soft. He kissed her back just as delicately, and then rubbed the side of his face against hers. An odd kind of overwhelming relief filled him, and House let himself relax against her, sliding his arm around Johanna's back. Her body was as he remembered—why would it be any different?—big and reassuringly warm. House kissed her ear, delighting in her smell. She giggled.

"That tickles, House."

"It's been too long since I've heard you laugh," he said, and did it again. He kissed down the side of her face and neck, moving the nightshirt opening so he could kiss her collarbone. Her skin was softer than Wilson's. House had to push that thought out of his mind. He also noted that she was on his left side, careful not to touch his ruined thigh and inadvertently cause him pain.

It was as if they had never stopped making love to each other, as if they hadn't made love to anyone else. She moaned his name, her hand moving up and gripping his shoulder, her body pushing against his side.

Their mouths met again, and all gentleness disappeared. It was hard, fast and desperate, tongues pushing into each other's mouths, mouths pushing together, sucking and licking.

House maneuvered himself so that he straddled her. His leg protested as he swung it over her thighs but House told it, _shut up_. His erection came on so fast it surprised even him. Johanna arched up as his hands grabbed her breasts, squeezing them firmly, not even bothering to play with her nipples. He pushed his penis against her, but she could not lean back to let him rut against her, so it pushed against the lower part of her belly.

"Oh my God, House," she gasped, pulling away from him, tangling her hands in his hair, stroking his scalp. "I've missed you so much, you have no idea."

"I can tell," but it came out as more of a pant than a regular sentence. "Lie down, Johanna." Hot lust was pumping through him.

"You'll have to stand up."

Goddamn logistics. House stood up with a grunt of pain. But horniness definitely took precedence over hurt, if only for a short time. Smiling, never taking her eyes from his, Johanna laid down on the hard pallet bed, arms under her head for a pillow, slowly spreading her legs open. House wished they had invented photography.

He knelt down on the bed, careful to let his left leg take most of his weight. They stared at each other as he lowered his hand to her crotch.

"You're soaking wet," he said, resisting the impulse to say _sloppy seconds_.

"It's not from—"she said, as if she'd read his mind. "It's all from _you_. I want you to fuck me, House, I want you to do all of those things you promised in the carriage, please. Please."

He laughed. "Well, maybe not all at once." His groin was throbbing with pleasure. He lifted her nightshirt up to her belly button, again admiring the slim hips, the muscular legs, the trim waist. House braced himself on his hands as she guided him into her. His cock was so hard it hurt, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the wave of ecstasy that rolled through him as he slid in as deeply as possible. Her hips rose up to meet his, her feet braced on either side of his, her arms still under her head. It was as if she was silently begging him to do whatever he wanted, she wouldn't fight him.

House lowered his head and licked her face with soft laps, like a cat lapping up milk, tasting the salty tang of her skin, smelling her delectable scent, his tongue tip feeling the soft down around her hairline. Then he kissed her and she eagerly took his tongue into his mouth, sucking and twining her tongue around his. House rocked tenderly against her as they kissed. She kissed him long and sensually, little noises of delight escaping from her.

"_Oh, House, yes, yes…_"

"_I know, I know_," he whispered.

. He grew urgent, and moved his hips faster, ignoring the complaints of his leg. Pulsations of lust built up within him as he pumped hard and fast, and she was pushing up against him, whispering obscenities that were so out of place with that strangely beautiful face. Then he felt her climax, watched her crane her neck backwards, saw her throat, heard her cry out, felt her hips pressed against his. House was taken over by jolts of pleasure, radiating outward from his crotch through every nerve fiber, his muscles stiffened, and the exquisite feelings kept going, and going, and going, he couldn't stand it…. His own orgasm shattered his thoughts; closing his eyes he saw orange branches against a black sky.

House went down on his elbows, laying his head on Johanna's right shoulder.

"Thank God you haven't thought of pajamas," he said after a moment.

"What…? Why do I even trouble to ask?" She kissed his forehead. "I love you."

At her words, it was as if some internal wall shattered, crumbled and fell. He moved so that he could look into Johanna's eyes.

"I love you," he said. "I _love_ you." He was amazed at himself. It was so easy to say, after all. But Johanna was staring past him.

House turned his head.

Wilson was standing in the doorway, fully dressed, his hair wet.


	96. Chapter 96

House recognized the expression of hurt, anger and embarrassment on Wilson's face. So he pulled down his nightshirt, gathered his clothes and cane, and limped out, saying, "My turn for a bath."

############################################################

"You don't love her, you know," Wilson said, his arms folded, leaning against the stone wall.

House sat up in the tub, his expression amazed. "Oh my Gawd—you're _right_! I just said that so I could get laid!"

The water was not quite clean, since it had been used several times already. House lathered himself with tallow soap.

"I mean it. You don't love her," Wilson repeated. "Because you _can't_ love her. If Semple's rebellion succeeds, and maybe even if it doesn't, Johanna is going to take the throne of—where are we again?"

"Princeton-On-Sea." House ducked his head under water, so that the soap would wash out of his hair.

"This is an absolute monarchy, but it's highly unlikely the population is going to allow a marriage to take place between her Royal Highness the Queen and a commoner. Not only a commoner, but a commoner wanted for kidnapping. You've known this all along, House."

"Marriage doesn't enter into it. Have you noticed how loosely they define fidelity?"

Wilson sighed. "You are amazing. As if the rest of the court and whatever government they have would let her live out of wedlock with you."

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, assuming I'm not killed before I reach the bridge." House reached for a grayish towel.

"Then there's the little matter of you and me." Wilson tilted his head. "You've kissed me. You've held me. You've blown me. Would you mind letting me in on what that's about?"

"This conversation is getting boring. Would you get out so I can dry off?"

"Why? Afraid you'll get an erection?"

"After the last eight hours? As if." House climbed gingerly out of the bathtub, splashing soapy water on the stone floor. Automatically, Wilson handed him the towel.

"I think that's the same towel I used," Wilson said with distaste. "It's sopping wet."

"There's probably only one towel." House rubbed himself down. "Wait outside. The sight of my manliness might make you want to reciprocate, and I am not in the mood."

######################################################

When House limped into the king's chamber, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for him: not only was Wilson not there, another man sat in his place.

"Ah, Dr. House, I am Dr. Marmaduke Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine, the town physician, » said the man with a bob of the head. « His Lordship sent for me. » This doctor had red cheeks, a small dirty white physician's wig, and an eczema-like condition on his face, probably psoriasis Also on his hands.

"I was called in by a gentleman to examine this patient. He has this extraordinary delusion that he is the king of Princeton-On-Sea."

"That's because I AM his Majesty!" William said angrily.

"Just go with it, Doctor," House said.

"The patient has severe cacothymia, popliteal aneurism, and an excess of yellow bile, which must be rectified," Dr. Sauvagine said with great pride. "Regular bloodletting is in order, as are large doses of salts and algaroth powder."

House stared at him. "You're a moron. Whether or not he has cacothymia is up for debate, but look at his knees." He pulled the blanket back from King William's legs. "Do _you_ see or feel an enlargement of the popliteal artery?" House felt behind the king's knees. "Completely normal. Did you even examine my patient? Yellow bile is bullshit. He's been poisoned by arsenic, as you can see by the lesions on his skin, and you propose to give him algaroth powder, which contains antimony, which is made from arsenic. This man has nearly been purged to death. Look at him; he barely weighs one hundred and forty pounds. The _last_ thing he needs are doses of salts. Go ahead; tell me where his pain is." House glanced at King William. "And you shut up. No hints."

"The pain? The pain is not important, merely an irritation of the throat. I examined his bowel movements and they were consistent with my findings."

"Your findings are worthless," House snapped. "His _non-important_ pain presents in the upper left quadrant of the abdomen. It could be cancer, bleeding ulcers, or simple gastric irritation from years of mistreatment. Get out of here before I rub your face in the patient's bowel movements."

"I shall speak to his Lordship," the doctor said indignantly. "I am well-known in medical circles, and I have never heard of _you_! What sort of a name is _House_?"

"It's a nickname for Dr. Bâtiment énorme, » House said, lifting his cane menacingly. Move it.

Protesting, the doctor stormed out. House turned to King William.

"You didn't _believe_ any of that crap, did you ? "

He was not sadistic, » King William replied. « You, sir, have the temperament of a man who enjoys dogfighting.

You're acting like yourself, House observed. Perhaps we'll get somewhere now.

King William glared at him, until a strange look overtook his face. Leaning forward, he vomited a thin stream of bright red blood.


	97. Chapter 97

"I NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!" House yelled out the room door.

"Huh?" said Marmaduke, who was sitting outside.

"Crap." For a moment House had forgotten where he was. "Get Wilson, Burton, Mother—Mr. and Mrs. Burton, _NOW!"_

House turned back and limped to where William lay over the side of the bed. Fortunately, there was not much blood. But it was fresh blood. _Shit. _How was House supposed to diagnose and treat in this godforsaken place?

"Come on, move," he said to William, roughly easing the king back up onto the bed. He found a water pitcher on the dresser, dumped the water on the floor, and put it in the king's lap. "Puke in that." House's leg started to spasm. He ignored it as best he could as he grabbed the poor excuses for pillows from Johanna's bed and pushed them behind the king, keeping him in a sitting position. Where the hell was she? If she was here he could get his eth.

William gagged, but only some saliva dripped out. House limped as fast as he could to his own room, where he fetched the apothecary case and his eth. Swallowing two cakes, he grabbed his cane and came back as Motherhips and Burton entered. House noted that Motherhips had gotten hold of a new, dark brown dress. "Glinda" was one smart operator.

"House, what is it?" asked Burton. He turned and saw the king. "Oh, heavens!"

"That's where he'll be if you don't move it," House said. "Burton, get a carriage and ride it around to the back. Motherhips, use your feminine charm to find out what that idiot doctor's address is."

Marmaduke returned, with Wilson in tow. "I got 'em all." Marmaduke looked extremely pleased with himself.

House ignored him. "Wilson, take a look." He tilted the pitcher toward his friend. "Mild hematemesis, but I suspect it's not going to be mild for long."

"Jaundice, bloating, trouble urinating, rectal bleeding?"

"None of those. I don't think it's cancer."

Wilson glared at him. "How can you tell if it's not cancer without any goddamn EQUIPMENT?"

"That's just it. I can't. You're the oncologist, you figure it out."

"It hurts," William moaned.

"Of course it hurts," House snapped.

Motherhips returned, breathless. "I have the doctor's address!"

Johanna walked in, bathed and dressed in a clean skirt and white man's blouse. She took in the scene before her. Apparently she knew better than to ask House; her gaze fell on Wilson.

"Your uncle's terribly sick—we're taking him to a doctor," Wilson said.

"But you're _both_ doctors!"

"Shut up and throw a blanket over him. We're going to have to carry him out the back way."

"I'm going with you," said Johanna.

"You can't—"

"Yes I _can._"

House knew that look in her eyes, and knew that she'd start throwing things if he said a word. "Okay, you and Wilson lift him up."

"Gently," said Wilson, glaring at House. Great. Two sets of dark brown eyes glaring at him. "House, why don't—"

"Cripple!" House said gaily, lifting his cane.

################################################################

Dr. Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine's office was in his home, a simple Greek Revival house in the middle of the street. Above the door was a hanging sign, SODOMISE UN GRAND SAUVAGINE, Physician.

Curious villagers walking along the street stared curiously at the people emerging from the carriage and climbing down from the box.

House rapped, hard, with his cane, on the front door. "HEY! LET US IN, YOU QUACK!"

Dr. Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine opened his front door, eyes widening when he saw House and his entourage. "Ah, so you are here because you need my skill," he said proudly.

House pushed him aside, motioning the others in. "No, we're here because we need your _office_."

"I beg your pardon, sir!" Dr. Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine squawked. "You cannot be serious!"

Wilson and Johanna carried William through the reception room into the office proper. There was no table, but there was a large leather examining chair that reclined back. They lowered William onto it. He gave a cry of distress.

Dr. Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine was behind them. "I cannot have so many people in this office with my patient!"

"He's right," House said to Motherhips. "Lock him in the coat closet."

"WHAT?" the doctor exclaimed as Motherhips and Burton grabbed him on either side. Protesting loudly, Dr. Sodomisé Un Grand Sauvagine was dragged back into the reception room. Burton pushed him into the coat closet, and Motherhips locked it.

"Do you think he'll be able to breathe?" Motherhips asked.

"Don't know, don't care," House replied. "Let's find some clean linens. Johanna, crank this chair down as far as it will go. Motherhips, light the fire. Burton, get a bucket of water to boil over it. If the pump's behind the house, move it!"

"What are you going to do to me?"

House looked at William. "I don't know yet. Stop yowling and lie still."

Wilson inspected the wooden barrels of extracts nearby: extract of skunk cabbage, extract of N. snake root, extract of bark. "This place is a museum, House. What are we supposed to do with this stuff?"

"We look for the surgical equipment," House said, opening and closing drawers. "We're doing exploratory surgery."

"In this cesspool?" Wilson's voice went up an octave. "House, everything here is covered with germs! We can't possibly create a sterile environment."

House was overtaken by a wave of anger. "You don't think I know that? We've been giving him milk and oil, he's defecating and urinating properly, but his pain is getting worse and now he's starting to barf blood." He pointed in the direction of Johanna and Motherhips. "They don't even know what sterile _means_. "

Wilson turned his attention back to the shelves. "I found the linens," he announced. "Here, Johanna, here's a clean—I think it's a sheet. House, this isn't hygienic enough."

"It's as clean as we're going to _get,_ you idiot!" House yelled, losing what little patience he had. "Motherhips, spread this sheet under William when me and Johanna lift him. Be careful, Johanna."

"Certainly I shall be careful," she muttered. Concern for her uncle caused her to frown. They took either side and gently lifted the king while Motherhips spread the sheet. William grunted in pain.

Wilson threw open the doors of a large cabinet. "Thank God," he said. "There's chloroform, at least. Soap." He sniffed it. "Oh, man, it's tallow."

"It's _soap_."

"Silk thread. Catgut. Cotton for bandages." Wilson took out a blue and white china bottle. "Here's salt! When Burton comes back with the water, he can make a warm saline solution."

"Tea tree oil?"

It took a moment for Wilson to spot it. "Find any equipment, House?"

Panting, Burton dragged in a large bucket of water and poured it into the cauldron over the fire. Her face next to his, Johanna talked softly to her uncle.

"Bingo!" House yelled, opening the drawer of a large cherry cabinet. "Forceps, scalpels, needles, retractors—we've hit the Flintstones jackpot!" Wilson looked over his shoulder.

"Jesus, House, the only time I've seen equipment like that is on display in your apartment."

"Good thing for you. Look, he's probably going to die anyway, but I think it's a bleeding ulcer."

"House!" Johanna said. "Do you have to say that?"

"Why not? It's the truth." He turned to Wilson. "And don't name one more thing we _don't_ have! How's Wenceslas doing?"

"It hurts," William repeated.

"Glad we're not going to have to listen to _him_ much longer," House muttered under his breath.

"You are reprehensible," Johanna said.

"Motherhips, grab a large basin, pour some water into it. Then crumble the soap into the water over the fire."

"You'd better—"said Wilson

"Shut up!" House glared at him. "We need two assistants."

"I'll help!" Motherhips exclaimed, giving Wilson a wink.

House snapped. "Which one of you degenerates knows how to use chloroform without killing somebody?"

"I've used it _many_ times," said Motherhips.

"Why does that not surprise me? Okay, Burton, that means you're up. Glinda, you're in charge of the patient's respiration. Once he's unconscious, if anything changes, you let us know. Johanna, you're mildly competent, you'll also assist."

"You swine," Johanna bit off the words. "I cannot comprehend why I ever said that I love you."

House stopped and stared at her. She had turned her face back to her uncle's, pointedly avoiding House.

"Because you're delusional," said Wilson.

House blinked, then came back to himself. "Saline on the table. Wilson, get everything ready while I sterilize the equipment"

"How are you going to do that?" Wilson frowned at him.

"Like this." House pulled out the drawer of instruments, and ferociously dumped them into the boiling water. "Burton, take the cauldron off the fire now."

"Midline incision made," Wilson said. All five of them had tied cloths over their mouths. Motherhips was in charge of the chloroform and checking the unconscious king's respiration. Johanna was in charge of handing over the instruments, which was annoying because she had to be told which each one was. Burton took each used instrument and bits of detritus, tossing them into a spittoon. He also gently blotted blood and other substances as the doctors worked.

"Heavens, that is positively _disgusting_," Motherhips whined. "I feel that I shall be sick."

"Don't vomit into the king, that's all I ask," Wilson said. "There's a pool of exudate under the liver, and the peritoneum is inflamed."

"Any fatty necrosis?" House asked as he busily tied off the major blood vessels with ligatures.

"No, we can rule out acute pancreatitis. We need to expose the stomach and duodenum…is there a self-retaining retractor over there?"

House nodded, and carefully placed it in the wound. "Burton, give me one of those folded wet cloths." House carefully put the pack between the retractor and the liver. Johanna's gaze was fixed upon the operation. It was obvious she was refusing to look at him. His stomach hurt. After all she'd put him through, she took it _back_?

Wilson moved his hand around. Even with the ligatures, the wound was bleeding, so he had to work quickly. "Nothing on the anterior surface of the duodenum. Nothing on the lesser curve of the stomach—House, maybe we should—"

"Let him die on the table? Probably gonna happen anyway, so let's see what we can do in the meantime, shall we?"

Wilson gave him a glare over the cloth around his lower face. Then his eyes flicked between Johanna and House. He turned his attention back to the patient, who was breathing slowly and evenly.

"Going through the lesser omentum. Burton, wipe."

Shuddering, Burton gently wiped the slippery surfaces with a piece of damp cotton wool.

"It looks like a sheep's insides," Motherhips gagged.

"Yes, we can put oatmeal in him and make haggis," said House. "How's his respiration?"

"He's breathing quite nicely!"

"If only his innards smelled better," Burton groused.

"_You're_ the one who used to be a stable boy—"

"You two shut up!" Wilson ordered. "Pay attention to what you're doing. Exploring the posterior surface of his stomach..." Wilson gritted his teeth, eyes upward. "Got it! Circular hole, about 8 mm, surrounded by thickened tissue."

The two doctors worked in perfect sync, moving the organs gently until House could sew the ulcer closed with three deep catgut stitches. He then brought up a fold of great omentum over the perforation and sewed that over the wound.

The hardest part was washing out the peritoneal cavity. House poured saline solution into it, but was momentarily stumped on how to remove the fluid.

"House—" Wilson said as the doctor stepped away from their patient.

"We need suction, and no, I'm not talking about the other night." House glanced at Johanna. "Although it was the best sex I've had in _weeks_."

He scoured the doctor's office until he saw what he wanted: an enema syringe. He grabbed it and gave it a quick swirl in the soapy water.

"Wipe this off," he said, handing it to Johanna. He was aware that Wilson was observing both of them closely. House and Wilson's eyes met, and Wilson's flicked away, back to the patient.

"Gimme."

Johanna handed the syringe back to him. House collapsed the bulb and let the solution in the cavity flow up into the tubing until it was full. Then he aimed at the spittoon.

"Ha! Perfect shot!" he gloated, and repeated the process until almost all of the fluid had been drained out. Wilson rolled his eyes, but gently rubbed the surface of the liver.

"Now that you've had your fun, could you make sure I don't leave any napkins in the patient?" Wilson said impatiently.

House carefully removed all of the equipment, handing it off to Johanna.

"You don't want to put it back?" she asked.

"By the time we used it again, he'd be dead."

"Closing," Wilson announce, stitching the abdominal incision closed. "Patient still alive?"

House felt the king's neck. "Pulse steady and strong."

Wilson dabbed at the incision with tea tree oil. "You are goddamned lucky, you know. If it had been a ruptured esophagus, or up in the duodenum, you would have been royally fucked, pardon the pun. Burton, help me bandage the patient."

When they were finished, Johanna leaned down and cranked the chair upwards. Motherhips held the king's head up to keep it straight.

Motherhips pulled the cloth off of his face. "What do we do now?"

House shrugged. "Maybe we should let the doctor out of the coat closet."


	98. Chapter 98

The abdominal incision did not bleed through the bandages. A small amount of laudanum had been given to the patient to keep him sleeping. House hated having to use the stuff, but he didn't want to risk using eth. Besides, that would mean less of it for himself. Shortly before they left the doctor's office, House had dumped all of the eth the doctor had into his pockets. Between that and what he was carrying in the apothecary case, he was pretty well set for a long time.

House felt the bandage lightly. The wound was not overly warm, which was a good sign. But it would be a miracle if the king did not contract an infection from the conditions under which they'd operated on him.

Wilson, Motherhips and Burton were taking a nap in the room in the room House and Wilson had shared.

House kept watch over his patient, lying on Johanna's bed. The big slut had her things moved to Semple's quarters. House took the bed for himself. Partly because it smelled like her. For once he was glad these places didn't change the sheets.

Semple had exploded at them when they returned, all sorts of drivel about going into the open, exposing them, etc. House didn't give a rat's ass, and informed Semple of that fact. Besides, didn't Semple own all of the land for miles around them? Otherwise, the Frog and Peach would have been raided months ago.

House listened to the king breathing. His attention was caught by sounds in the next room. First there was soft rustling and grunting, then muffled moaning. House wondered idly who was doing what to whom. He didn't have to wonder long.

"Oh, Jesus, oh, yes." Wilson's voice.

Another moan, from Motherhips, and over the noises of Wilson and Motherhips, a third voice.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my."

Burton had evidently decided against being jealous of Wilson.

House turned his head towards the racket.

"For God's sake, do something original!" he yelled, and turned back to stare at the king.

It was a long time before Motherhips emerged from the room, quite disheveled. He tugged the neckline of his dress straight.

"I don't know why you prefer Johanna to Wilson," he said. "Wilson is so much more masculine, and he's quite pretty. Her Highness, if I may be so bold, is a—a freak of nature."

"You're the freak of nature, Mom-Ass. Johanna is tall and broad-shouldered in a culture where none of the other women are more than five feet two." House glowered at his hands."

"You could do worse than me, House." House turned to stare at Wilson. His friend looked decidedly post-coital, cheeks flushed, white shirt untucked, and no stockings.

"Go find yourself some bawdy wench—a female—there's got to be one around this place."

Wilson smiled. "Oh, I've been looking around."

"You have?" squawked Motherhips.

"Please, darling," said Burton, coming in behind him/her.

House glanced at Burton. "You seem pretty accepting for a guy who's just had his lover have his way with Wilson."

"We're married," Burton said loftily. "Nothing we do affects that. Or who we do it with, for that matter." He gave Motherhips a peck on the cheek. "Perhaps you could join us next time."

"Thanks, but I don't think so."

"What do you have against Wilson?" asked Burton. "It's not as if her Highness is available now. She shall become Queen, Semple shall be her consort, and you…perhaps you can return to the military."

"I never _was_ in the military, you morons!"

"Oh, dear," Motherhips said softly, and gave his husband a meaningful glance. "He's off again." He tilted his head coquettishly. "See here, you know you desire Wilson. Doesn't he, Wilson?"

"House, you fellated me. Don't tell me you didn't feel _something_." Wilson was chuckling. House stood.

"Yes, I felt your dick in my mouth. Big whoop."

"Kiss him, House!" said Motherhips.

"Yes, kiss him!" Burton chimed in.

Wilson shrugged. "It's what the public wants, House."

House didn't move as Wilson stepped toward him, looking deep into his eyes. House could have sworn he saw a gleam of triumph in Wilson's eyes.

Wilson took House by the shoulders, leaned in, and kissed him softly. Now it was House's turn to pull away.

"Wilson, what the hell—"

"I've learned a lot about myself since I got here." Wilson kissed him again, and House opened his mouth slightly, feeling Wilson's mouth and the skin rougher than Johanna's, the smell like Johanna's but unmistakably male, the same height as Johanna—

Wilson was moving his mouth over House's languorously, ignoring the gasps and giggles of the other two men in the room. "Does that feel good?" he whispered.

"I don't know," House answered. He was as confused as when he had first started sleeping with Johanna. Only now it was reversed. Did he want Wilson because House loved Johanna? Why was this happening? Why was he so _numb_?

Wilson moved closer, bringing his crotch into contact with House's, and swayed. "How's that? Huh? How's that?" House had never heard Wilson sound so—so dirty before. House was getting aroused, despite his numbness. Wilson continued to kiss him, one hand sliding around the back of House's neck, Wilson's tongue slowly sliding into his mouth.

House let his mouth open, and savored the sensation of Wilson's tongue in his mouth, sliding over his teeth, licking the sides of his mouth. He opened his legs so that Wilson could get between them. Through his clothes he felt Wilson's erection against his own. His arms were still at his sides.

Wilson pulled back. "Now who's acting like a virgin?" He was genuinely puzzled.

"I don't know. It's because—it's because you're _you._ I—uh—maybe this isn't a good idea."

Firmly, Wilson took House's arms and wrapped them around his own waist. "_Get over it, House_," he whispered, and resumed kissing him. House's grip tightened around Wilson, feeling the soft white cloth of his shirt and the smooth body underneath. If only—he shook the thought out of his head. _Be here now_, he said sarcastically to himself.

House licked Wilson's lips, forcing himself not to compare. He kissed his friend lightly around the lips before kissing them directly. Now they were both sliding their tongues into each other's mouths, Wilson's hands running and down House's back, their groins rubbing together. Pleasure fought through the numbness and House did his best to give in to it. Wilson was a _great_ kisser.

Wilson kissed down the side of House's neck, causing him to grunt between clenched lips. He spread House's shirt open and kissed his collarbone on either side. House shivered.

"Oh, it's so beautiful!" Motherhips squealed.

The sound of the servant's voice snapped House abruptly back to the here and now. He yanked away from Wilson and fumbled with his shirt, not meeting his friend's eyes.

"Find yourself a woman," House growled. "And don't ever do that again."


	99. Chapter 99

House fervently hoped he wouldn't have to live through another week like this again. For the most part, he was stuck in the room with the king. Marmaduke was generally his only company, save for when Motherhips came in to feed the king soft foods and broth. Wilson all but ignored House when he came in to check on the patient…_Jesus_ _Christ playing lacrosse, it sucked_. Wilson had moved out of the servants' room to somewhere else in the inn. Motherhips and Burton moved in. Apparently the new room was much better than those in the servants' quarters, cramped and dark though it was. House had to listen to them billing and cooing every night. They sounded like baritone adolescents.

Worst was the boredom. His mind felt like a squirrel in a cage, ceaselessly chasing itself for no good reason. House began doing math puzzles in his head. Too easy. He did them backwards. Too easy. He created crossword puzzles but had nowhere to write them down. It didn't matter, he would be writing puzzles that were already solved.

One slow afternoon, he told Marmaduke to keep an eye on the king. "You'll find me at the stables."

As House had hoped, Burton was there, currycombing Storm. The big black horse nickered in recognition when he saw House.

"Good afternoon, House."

House patted Storm's sleek, shiny neck. "Hi, boy. Resting comfortably?"

Burton smiled. "He's the best horse in this stable. Were you wanting something?"

House nodded. "Before my leg—I was a pretty good rider. I want to know if you can teach me to ride again. On Storm."

"Perhaps. If you remember, you sit astride balanced and calm. Your legs don't do much of the work, but it will still hurt."

"I don't care. It always hurts."

"You're in luck—it's the lower leg that counts."

House squinted at him. "Can we start now?"

"I'll have him saddled and bridled in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

King William was healing nicely. Boring. He slept most of the time. Boring. However, during his periods of wakefulness, he was willing to talk about the kingdom, and his reign.

"I loved being the king," William said. "I prized the power. Knowing my will was law. You wouldn't understand that, doctor."

"You'd be surprised."

"Before I became ill, I planned to marry and start a family. The king needs an heir." William rolled his head toward the wall and sighed. "If I could—but I won't live through this."

"You'll be eating sheep thyroids in no time."

William turned and met his gaze. "I shall be slain during the rebellion. Louis shall see to that. Of what use is a man in the circumstance I find myself?"

"Damn better than the circumstances you were in when I found you."

"A man who cannot fight to save himself is a woman."

House cocked an eyebrow. "Have you _met_ your niece?"

A feeling of grief hit him abruptly and completely. Goddamn it, he missed Johanna. He missed being able to talk to Wilson, his best friend. He missed _himself._

A thought struck him. "Wait a minute…is the Queen Mother your mother?"

William sat up. The pain made him quickly lie down again. "Yes! Is she still alive?"

"Last I saw. Full of…uh…vigor."

"Oh, that is happy news! I wish I could get a message to her. I haven't seen her in so long."

"Perhaps you can," House said.

The next day, Wilson stopped by to see how the king was doing. He gave House a perfunctory greeting as he bent over the incision.

"Wilson, we have to talk," House said.

Wilson looked over at him. "There's something I never thought I'd hear."

"I want us to be okay again."

"We haven't been okay for a long time, House." Wilson straightened up. House nodded toward the other side of the room.

"I know," House said, limping away from the king's bed. "Why? Because I'm not swooning into your arms?" House ducked his head. "You used to like needy."

Wilson folded his arms. "I still like needy. But your needy is too…complicated."

"Is it because of Johanna?"

"Yes. And no. Discovering at my age that I'm bisexual is not the most fun thing that even happened to me, House."

"From the way you were carrying on with Motherhips, I'd never guessed."

"I had the occasional urge—"

"Who doesn't?"

"Our friendship—" Wilson paused. "I'm not comfortable talking about this." He bowed his head. "I've never felt the sort of sexual freedom you do, House. Over the years, you've tried everything."

"Don't blame me if you got your kicks from listening to me tell you about it," House snarled. "You know that you wanted to try _all_ of the things I did, from sleeping with transvestites to going to BDSM clubs from fucking a 200-lb. dead tuna. I was a little squeamish at first, but then I thought, I've never fucked a fish before—"

"Mocking me isn't going to make this any easier."

"No, but it's still fun. Wilson, I'm the most important person in your life." House dropped his voice. "And you've been the most important in mine. Until Johanna. Now I don't know which of you is more important."

"That's something you're going to have to figure out."

"I was hot for Johanna because she reminded me of you," House muttered. "And now any attraction I have toward you is because you remind me of Johanna. Shit."

"Then you admit you're attracted to me?"

"Not going there, Wilson." House squinted at him. "Is Motherhips your girlfriend or boyfriend or both? Or should we call Glinda your main squeeze? That works either way."

"You're the one who started this—" Wilson broke off as someone knocked on the door.

"Fuck off, Marmaduke!" House yelled.

Motherhips poked his head in. When he saw Wilson, he gave a wide smile.

"I am so sorry to interrupt you, gentlemen—"

"No, you're not; you were hoping we'd be naked and rutting on top of the king."

Motherhips's smile grew wider. "Yes, I was, in part. Sir John needs to see you, House. At once, in the root cellar."

House limped out behind the inn and scanned the area toward the fields. The root cellar, basically a heavy wooden door built into a sloping hill, was a fair distance. House had taken the precaution of bringing a pistol tucked into the waist of his breeches and wearing a frock coat, even though it was a very warm afternoon. He'd become accustomed to the silence of this country. The absence of sirens, cars, voices, all of the aural distractions at home. Instead, as he walked towards the hill, there were blackbirds and song thrushes singing, and the brush like sound of soft wind through the trees. House looked up and saw a light brown and black hawfinch flying from branch to branch, singing its distinctive sweet, clicking song.

House knew that John had tried to have him killed once. He probably intended to try again. However, Motherhips knew that House had been summoned. So, it could be safely presumed, did everyone else. Motherhips was never one to keep his mouth shut, whether it was talking or giving blow jobs. House kept walking, because he wanted to see what would happen. With any luck it wouldn't be boring.

The door was open. There was a strong, musty earthen odor. House took in the stone walls, dirt floor, and large wooden bins full of turnips, parsnips, onions, cabbage, and other vegetables. It was quite cold and unpleasantly humid. There were small ventilation shafts cut into the ceiling. He stepped out again, in case John's idea was to lock him in the root cellar. Which would be incredibly stupid, since the cook would probably come to get vegetables for the inn's guests.

"Ah, Captain de la Fontaine," came John's voice. Semple's lieutenant strode toward him. His small eyes were narrowed, so that House could barely see the whites. John's coarse hair was matted with grease. From the smell coming from him in the warm air, House gave thanks they were going into the root cellar. With his free hand, he felt for his pistol.

"John…ah… what is your full name? I'm guessing there's a Marmaduke in there somewhere."

"Baron John Marmaduke Il le fait Avec du Poisson. It is not only the commoners who wish to dethrone the Prince Regent. We are also affected by his tyrannical reign."

"The price of indentured servants going up?"

John gave House an annoyed look. "Someone will see us. Follow me, Captain."

"Why?"

"We must speak privately. Lord Semple gave me orders to stay out of sight. Particularly you, Captain."

"You do know that all of the servants know I'm here. And if there's one thing servants like to do, it's gossip. They probably think we're going to smoke some ganja in there. So you know killing me would raise quite a fuss."

"I don't have it in mind to kill you."

John had to duck to go through the door. House followed, watching John intently.

Not intently enough. As he entered, John kicked his cane out from under him. House stumbled and John grabbed House from behind, pinning his left arm behind him. With his free hand, John held a large, sharp knife to House's throat.

House tried to grab for the knife, but John was as tall as House and twice as meaty. John jerked him close, breathing heavily.

"You crippled imbecile! Do you know what you've done?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me. Unless I go deaf first. Use your inside voice." House squirmed. John was simply too strong.

"That imprudent surgery! In the middle of the village! The doctor might have kept his silence, but not after what you did to him. Locking him in a closet! Stealing his instruments!"

House gasped. John was pinning House's arm painfully tight. "My patient needed surgery. Your _king_ needed surgery."

"Are you so thick that it did not occur to you that you and Johanna would be recognized?"

"Can I help it if she's the tallest woman in the country?" House thought hard. No, he couldn't grab and squeeze John's balls with his right hand. Any pressure points he might have had access to were out of reach. If he pulled out his pistol, John would slit House's throat in a nanosecond.

John held his knife closer to House's neck. "Because of your arrogance, we have to move quickly. The village is filled with gossip about the Princess. By now a messenger has surely been dispatched to the winter palace to let his Highness know that she has been found. I would kill you, but his Lordship ordered me to let you live. There is to be a Council of War, and he needs your military contacts and expertise. It would give me great pleasure to murder you."

"Did Semple send you here to kill me?"

"No."

"Then you'd be an idiot to do it. Actually, you are already an idiot. And your breath stinks."

House felt John shift, the knife slightly harder against House's throat. "Your value is negligible, cripple."

Leaning back against John, House felt the pistol in his waistband with his right hand. Gently, he angled it slightly backward, making sure that his aspiring assassin didn't feel the movement.

House pulled the trigger, shooting down and back. The gun kicked hard against his hip and he gasped as the shot grazed his right thigh.

With a shriek, John let go of House and fell to the ground. "You bastard!" he moaned. "You shot me in the foot! You coward!"

"See how much fun it is being a cripple?" House sneered. "You really should see a doctor about that wound. Just not me."

He grabbed his cane. His right thigh was on fire, but before he limped away, he shut and locked the root cellar door. Let the cook find John tomorrow.


	100. Chapter 100

House was in luck. Johanna sat by her uncle's bed, apparently having a lively conversation. House couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Johanna laugh.

She turned. The blush he knew so well bloomed on her cheeks.

"Johanna, we need to talk. _Now_."

"I see no need—"

"I forgot!" House feigned surprise, tilting his head. "We have _issues!_ " He returned to his normal tone. "Semple's chief thug informed me that I am expected to supply military contacts and inside information. Back room. Marmaduke, see to it that he doesn't bleed to death while we're in here."

Closing the door to the back room, House leaned against it. Being so close to Johanna was more than uncomfortable. By now her blush had spread in splotches on her neck and upper chest. She was wearing an unfamiliar man's shirt and dark blue wool skirt.

"What do you need to know, House?" She looked at the floor. He studied the top of her head, the thick dark brown hair. It was long enough to wear in a braid.

"How's it going with Semple?"

"It's Semple, not—" She stopped. "You've always called him Simple."

"No point, now." This was become excruciating. "If you're happy—" He stepped toward her.

"Deliriously. Are you happy with Wilson? Is he everything you wanted?"

"Everything and more," House said softly. He reached out and carefully touched her face, hoping his touch would communicate what he couldn't say.

Johanna reached up and took his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingers delicately. A shiver of pleasure overcame him. It had been so long since they had been this close together. Still holding his hand, Johanna moved it back to the side of her face, her brown eyes meeting his. With his other hand, he reached for her hair, hesitantly tangling his fingers in it. He felt raw, frightened, overwhelmed by his own arousal.

Johanna reached around the back of his head and pulled his mouth to hers for a kiss. At first their lips merely brushed, and she lightly kissed his cheek, then moved back, opening her mouth to his. House remembered the taste of her lips, and returned her kiss with mounting hunger, their mouths pressing together, tongues sliding in and out, no sound but their soft breathing. As if as one, they lowered their arms to their sides and laced them together, palms together, still kissing. House's leg gave a twinge of pain, but he tried to ignore it. .

She suddenly pulled his hands behind her back so that he pressed against her. The feeling of her big familiar body sent a lightening bolt of lust straight to his groin. He gasped and tightened his grip as she laid her head on his shoulder. She was shaking. Letting go, House moved his arms across her broad back, every touch, every texture, every smell so well remembered and so longed for. This was so fiery, so intense, all of his pent-up lust trying to claw its way out of him…

He reached down and squeezed her strong buttocks, feeling them under the scratchy wool skirt. By now he was completely hard, and rubbed himself between her skirted legs. Johanna responded to his touch by relaxing onto him, barely moving her hips. They resumed kissing, eyes closed. House felt as if he were burning up. He wanted to pull off all of his clothes, if only to cool down.

She grasped his shoulders, and licked his cheek like a cat. She again took his right hand, brought it to her mouth and gave it a long, slow, wet lick. House almost lost it right there. Then she was unbuttoning her white shirt, opening it to expose her beautiful small breasts with their pink nipples, the tips hardened. House leaned down and sucked at them greedily, while Johanna grabbed at his hair to pull his head closer. She gave a barely perceptible gasp, managing to stay on her feet. House was also shaking, he wanted her so much. He had thought this would never happen again. That he was done with her and her craziness for good. But again he felt that she belonged to him, had always belonged to him. It was _right._

She reached down and rubbed his cock through the cloth of his breeches, then expertly undid the buttons. His cock sprang free, and she deftly took it in her hand.

House inhaled through his teeth with a hissing noise. His leg sent up another pain signal. If only he had taken eth before this. But the pleasure kept the pain at bay.

Johanna seemed to somehow sense it. Letting go of his cock, she lay backwards on the hard pallet bed near the door. House quickly checked that the door was locked. He looked down at her, so beautiful, her hair splayed out against the mattress, her eyes glittering.

He pulled up her blue wool skirt. She lifted her hips to make it easier, so that it made the cloth bunch underneath her. Impulsively, he draped his arms over her knees, one under each shoulder, bringing her legs together. He caressed her thighs, giving one a light slap. She gasped with enjoyment. By now lust was burning all through him, heating his skin, his face, his groin, he needed to unleash some of this heat or it would consume him. He was on fire inside.

House pushed away from her, and she opened her legs wide. He thrust two fingers into her opening. It was dripping wet. She pressed her lips together, continuing to stare at him.

Expertly, as he had so many times before, he rolled down his breeches with one hand. Removing his fingers, he pushed into her and was engulfed by the pulsing warmth. He shut his eyes involuntarily at how astonishing entering her felt. House bent his head to suck at her nipples again, causing her to buck against him. Johanna's strong legs wrapped around his, but she quickly withdrew when he gasped with surprised pain.

"Damn…leg…" he managed to say.

"_Beautiful_ leg." She whispered. "Let me." Lifting her hips, she ground them against his groin, then pushed downwards into the mattress as far as she could go, bracing her feet on the bed. Then up again. House moved with her, nearly lightheaded with pleasure, his balls swelling, his body tightening and spasming, and the heat was overwhelming, sweat dripped off his face onto hers. Johanna moved faster. She gave a soft little cry.

At that he exploded inside of her, flames behind his eyelids, melting him into liquid, his muscles jerking as he pushed and she gripped, the two of them in a perfect dance of ecstasy.

When it was over, House slumped down on top of her, panting. Johanna was also breathing heavily.

He regretted that he didn't feel this way with Wilson.

Johanna looked over at him. "To answer your question, I'm not happy. I feared that if I married the Duke I would lose myself. That is happening with Semple. He's selfish, and domineering, and sneers at me for being 'only a woman.' But if I take the throne I shall have to marry him. They are _counting_ on me to take the throne."

"You could have him beheaded. That seems to be a big thing here."

She laughed. "It's not_ that_ terrible. I must have a consort who is from nobility."

"What about William?"

"What about him? He can't rule, he's too sick."

"He won't be for much longer." House twirled of lock of Johanna's hair around his right index finger. "I have a question. Who am I?"

"What? You're House."

"No, who am I _here_?"

She made a small exasperated noise. "You need to remember. Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine, brought to the palace because you were to recuperate there and receive the Golden Lion of Valor. You were in the 6th regiment. That's all I know."

"No. So what am I supposed to tell Semple? How is this army set up?"

Johanna's attention was focused on the one small window. She proceeded to sketch out the rough structure of the army, pausing frequently. Eight regiments, the Prince Regent's personal guards, and the names of his generals.

After several minutes she stopped. "That's all that I know, House. I wish I knew more, but as you know, I was never supposed to be Queen." She looked at him, her brown eyes brimming. "What are we to do?"

"We do nothing. We go through with it. We put you on the throne, and you marry Semple. Who knows, maybe _that's_ the puzzle. After that, there's a good chance I'll disappear and end up back in New Jersey."

She laid her arm across his chest and began sobbing. House stared up at the stone ceiling, his clothes mussed and undone, his mind whirling.


	101. Chapter 101

The next evening, House watched Motherhips feeding King William chopped-up sheep thyroids and celery.

"You eat that all up, it's good for what ails you," Motherhips crooned, when William gagged.

"It tastes bad."

"Oooh, look who's being fussy now! A few weeks ago you were drinking chicken's blood as if it was fine port." Somehow Motherhips had managed to procure a new dress, dark brown with a high neck and long sleeves. Who did he manage to screw here to get enough for a dress? Not Wilson, that was for sure.

Who walked through the door.

"Well, speak of the devil that swings both ways."

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Good evening, James." Motherhips batted his eyelashes.

"No change," said House.

"That's good thing," said Wilson. "He could get sepsis by inhaling hard."

"Captain." One of Semple's men entered the room. "You are wanted outside."

House followed him out, starting to tell Wilson to get him if—

A thick woolen hood was pulled over House's head.

"House!" Wilson yelled.

House was hoisted on a horse and his hands bound behind his back. He could hear other horse's jingling tack and men's voices, approximately ten. House recognized John's voice speaking softly to a man House had not heard before.

House could not tell how long the journey took, only that after what he guessed was an hour his right leg started cramping.

They stopped. He was pulled off over the left side, landing hard on the ground right foot first. He gasped with pain.

"You could have provided a footstool," he said, his voice muffled by cloth. A man led him over a wooden bridge—he heard the creaks and felt it bend under his weight—into a room. House smelled the dank odor of stone, dirt and mold.

The hood was pulled off, and House gasped for air. He, along with several others, stood in what had once been an entryway. It looked to have been built in the 1700s, with arched stone doors, crumbling plaster revealing the brick underneath. The dirt floor was strewn with bits of stone and dead leaves. It was indeed ten men, including John, the rest clearly peasantry. One, a stout man in a dirty tunic, carried a large lantern. _We're in Transylvania_, House thought.

"Give me my cane," House demanded.

The man gave him a gap-toothed smile. "We didn't bring it. Follow me, Captain."

"Not unless someone helps me." House would get revenge for this. "I can't walk without my cane."

"You, Big Ken, you carry the Captain," said Gap-Tooth.

Big Ken was indeed big. In fact, he was a behemoth, taller than House and twice as wide. His ruddy face was kind. "Here, Captain, put your arm around my shoulder." He leaned closer and whispered, "Put your full weight on me if you have to."

"Thanks," House answered.

The procession made its way through three crumbling rooms. The windows cut into the walls had no glass. This was a castle built for the days of bow and arrow. Stars twinkled in the dark blue night sky outside. House had a sudden memory of standing on the hospital roof staring at the sky. There, he was lucky to see more than a few at a time.

In the third room were curved stone stairs.

"More fucking stairs," House muttered.

House put his hand on Big Ken's chest, leaning heavily as they slowly walk-hopped up the stairs. There was light ahead of them. House prayed it didn't mean more stairs. The crowd pushed them toward the top of the stairs, John leading the way. The lantern wavered on the deteriorated walls.

At the landing, John turned to the rest of the men.

"You lot wait here," he ordered. Then he beckoned House toward a room ahead of them. "In here." He pushed open the heavy, warped wooden door.

Thick beams ran across the low ceiling, making the large room appear smaller. Torches burned in holders ringing the chamber. In the center was a long wooden table. Sitting at it were Semple and four men that House had seen around the camp. They had the stiff bearing of military men. Johanna was not there.

There was a large rectangular map on parchment paper spread across the table. House recognized the military markings on it. The diagram was of a roughly circular territory. From his standpoint it was upside down, but that didn't matter.

House dropped heavily into a tall wooden chair opposite Semple, as John also took a seat. Gap-Tooth guarded the door, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

"Gentlemen, we have among us the esteemed Captain Marmaduke Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine," announced Semple. "This is the notorious villain who abducted Her Royal Highness Johanna. Which is our great fortune."

The men at the table looked at House with greater respect. "Thanks, it was nothing," House said.

"Captain de la Fontaine, this is my Commanding Officer, Baron Marcus Alan Tortues De Mer Lambinantes of Merkin." Semple went around the table. "The Baron's Second in Command, Sir Marmaduke Succion Des Parties Génitales De Sanglier Courtenay."

"Captain," the Baron acknowledged with a nod of the head.

"Good evening, Captain," said Sir Courtenay.

"Quartermaster General, Lord Aime Un Chatouillement Sur Son Palais Mou Marmaduke Davidson, military secretary; and Captain Russell Consommation Des Oiseaux Chanteurs Wainsborough, Captain of the Seventh Regiment."

"And you were with...?"

"The Sixth Regiment. However, as I am sure Lord Semple has told you, I don't remember a thing about it. I'm of no use to you."

"We shall be the judge of that, Captain de la Fontaine," Semple snapped. He turned to the others. "As you have been told, the Captain is also a physician. He and another doctor operated on King William, saving our sovereign's life. It is our bad fortune is that the king is mentally and physically ruined. He cannot retake the throne."

"That's idiotic, he—" House said.

"Captain," Semple's smile was tight. "Far be it from me to dash your hopes. The king is unfit to rule. May I remind you that I am the Commander in Chief, the man who makes those decisions. As if one view of the poor unfortunate didn't confirm my opinion." He leaned back. "So, gentleman, to our plans."

"The Prince Regent returned to his palace in Rutgers for the Season, which is now past its height. That means a great many of the royals shall be leaving the city, and a small number of mounted troops shall accompany them. Anything that makes the battalion's numbers smaller works to our advantage," said Sir Courtenay. "The Royal Palace is on the southwest side of Rutgers." He pointed near the outside of the circle. "It is heavily guarded, more so because of the rebellion. The Prince Regent has not set foot outside in days. Some foolish citizens attempted to take on the army on their own. Butchered, of course."

"You know what morons peasants can be," House remarked absently, gazing at the map. The markings were unlike the markings he'd seen growing up. An offended "Ahem!" came from the other end of the table, but House didn't look up.

Baron Marcus Alan gestured along the map. "Our reconnaissance groups have sent information about both the terrain and where the Prince Regent's forces are. Since Rutgers is not a walled city, I believe the best course is for a first wave of troops on foot to attack the south and east flanks of the city. Those will be the most heavily guarded. We can afford to lose those men if we can cause significant damage on the other side."

"Let me guess. Your troops are the men whose land you own," said House. "How many of them are in favor of this, anyway?"

"You insult me, sir!"

"No, if I called you a fat pig that would be an insult. Merely trying to get a feel for where the common folk stand."

"Pay him no mind, Marcus. Captain de la Fontaine fancies himself quite the wit," Semple said. "Captain, you know that our citizens do not want the Prince Regent on the throne. You know that he planned to kill her Highness. While Johanna is alive, he is ruling without the rule of law. Thanks to you, Johanna will take her rightful place as Queen. Captain Wainsborough, have you made arrangements for your regiment and the others to be stationed near the palace?"

"I have, sir." Captain Wainsborough inclined his head. "The Second to the Fourteenth Regiments shall be there. I shall participate in strategy meetings and send messages to you. Your part is to assure that my men have access to hidden heavy artillery when the time comes." He smiled. "When the battle begins, the other regiments shall be unpleasantly surprised to find their own weapons turned on them."

Marcus laughed. "I hope you are paying your men enough money to do it! The next wave of rebels, a small group, will attack on foot and horseback at the eastern side of the city. That will create a diversion while the rest of the troops converge on the south and southwest. We will have cannons around the perimeter, brought in the night." He turned to House. "We shall present you as the hero who abducted the future Queen from her captor, the Prince Regent. Many of the rebels will rally to your side. You shall lead the charge from the south."

House's stomach dropped two stories. For once he was at a loss for words.

Semple's smile was triumphant. "You see, Captain de la Fontaine? You _are_ of use to us."

The next hours were filled with talk of arms and armaments, where to hide Johanna until the revolution was complete, how to spread the word that she was alive and on the rebel side…it was agreed to meet again in two weeks. The residents of the Frog & Peach had to be evacuated to safety before the Prince Regent had intelligence of their presence.

House stared at a torch in its holder. Maybe this was the answer to the puzzle. Leading a military charge was going to get him killed, no matter how he looked at it. But what would it accomplish? Something was missing.

Again he was hooded and lifted up onto a horse, his feet slid into the stirrups. House submitted. By now the pain was so bad it was hard to concentrate. He felt the horse move forward. He tried to hurt himself some other way to take his mind off his leg, but there was no way to do more than scrape his hands, bound behind him, on the metal decoration of the saddle.

After an eternity, large hands eased him off of the horse, and the hood was removed. House thought he might pass out from the pain.

"May I please return to the sickroom?" he snarled at John. John nodded. There were some chortles behind House as he dragged himself toward the inn entrance. Fuck 'em.

Wilson pulled open the door at House's knock.

"House! Jesus, what happened to you? What did they do?" His friend was frantic.

"Gimme some eth," House panted, leaning against the wall. "It's in my apothecary case. Three tablets."

"Where were you?" Wilson dragged the wooden case out from under the bed and located the drugs. House swallowed them dry. He noted that the king was asleep. This was good; the more sleep the better. Besides, House didn't need him to hear any of this and start squawking. Motherhips had left.

"You need water."

"I already took the damn pills."

"No, you need water. You look like hell." Wilson handed him a goblet. "Drink it."

House wouldn't say it out loud, but he was grateful to Wilson for being here. "I was part of a secret meeting. Military stuff, nothing important, just storming the palace. Oh, and I'm leading one of the regiments."

Wilson picked some straw off House's shoulder. "You can't lead a regiment."

"I can't, but I'm going to."

"You can't ride a horse."

"Burton's been giving me riding lessons. I'm scheduled for a Custer's Last Stand headed for the south side of the palace. Too bad I won't be around for Johanna's coronation. And too bad you won't get a peek at that uniform. Talk about _gay_."

Wilson was silent.

House gave him a cheery smile. "Hey, how many times do you get to be best friends with a glorious martyr to the cause?"

"That's not funny."

"There'll be a big sculpture of me on horseback in the Rutgers town square. Too bad I'll have that ridiculous name on the base—"

"House." For a long time, Wilson was silent, standing there. Without looking at House, he murmured, "Please stop making jokes, for God's sake." He tilted his head back, meeting House's eyes. Then, reaching forward, he gently ran the back of his left hand along the side of House's head. "You have no idea how filthy your hair is."

House gently took his friend's wrist. "Says the guy with enough grease on his head to fry a dozen eggs. You should have seen the amounts of food they served at the…" he paused. "Hold on, I've gotta go downstairs."

He turned, grabbing his cane, and limped down to the ground floor. The eth was taking effect. Not caring who saw him, he headed to the bar room. Peach stood behind the bar, pulling pints of ale. He frowned when he saw House.

"Peach, do you know how to get hold of Alexander? Fendel's assistant? The penis-sucking Wonder of the Western World?"

"I might."

"I need to send a message. Do you have a pencil and paper?"

Peach located both and handed them over. House thought for a moment, then wrote:

_Mum ~_

_We so wish to hear from our dear Mum. We do hope that your legs are no longer paining you. Please send a return message when you can. We miss you ~_

_The Cottages_

He carefully folded the paper, then tilted a candle so a drop of wax fell on the fold. With the pencil tip, he smooshed it. A lousy official seal, but it would have to do. On the front he wrote

_Alexander, please give this to Gunther's ward_

"Tell him I need an answer as soon as possible." He pushed two silver coins toward Peach. "Let me know if the courier needs any more. Oh, and if you have _any_ notion of betraying me, if I'm arrested, this fetid little establishment will be burned to the ground."

He turned to limp back up the stairs. "I'm so glad we had this little chat," he tossed over his shoulder.

The Queen Mother _had _to get that damn message.


	102. Chapter 102

House was in a deep, deep sleep. His name was being called. He was standing in a green meadow, the sun was shining down on his face. Unseen people were calling to him. _Go away_.

"House, wake up! House!"

His shoulder was shaken roughly. "Whaa…whaaa…I'm sleep…" His eyes closed and he rolled toward the wall.

"House!"

"Go 'way."

"House!"

House rolled over, blinking. Why weren't these damned fools letting him sleep?

Wilson and Johanna stood over him. Wilson's hands were on his hips. Johanna's arms were folded.

"Wow, a threesome!" House grinned. "Get in, kiddies!" He lifted the blanket.

"House, we have to talk," they said in unison. Then gave each other poisonous looks.

"Come on, my idea's way more fun." House twitched the blanket. "Clothes off, everybody!"

"House…" Wilson said, warning in his voice.

There was a loud snort from the back of the room. Pimply-faced Marmaduke was watching, eyes round.

"You do NOT get a piece of the action," House snapped. "We start fondling, you start exiting."

"What about us?" came Motherhips's voice. He and Burton were standing nearby, looking as worried as Wilson and Johanna.

"I'd make an exception for you two, although somebody would fall out of the bed."

"_House_…"

"God, now I get to have TWO lectures." House rubbed his face sleepily. "Who wants to go first? Wilson, you're the expert." He gave a floppy wave of his hand. "Bring it on."

"You can't possibly think you can lead a regiment! It's insane! Has your messiah complex gotten _completely_ out of control? You don't give a crap about your own welfare, but we are talking about dozens of men! Men who will trust a man who -"

"House, you don't know _how_," Johanna put in. "We know you're not a real soldier, why are you going through with this?"

House sat, drawing up his legs and resting his outstretched arms on them. "I hate being annoyed before breakfast. Can't you harangue me later after I've taken a crap?"

"No!" they both said, and glared at each other again.

His body ached all over from the night before, and he reeked of horse shit. "How about a bath? I'm sure I can find one here that's only been used by a dozen people so far." He reached over to the table by the bed, shook out two eth tablets, and dry-swallowed them.

"If I may say, so, House, you are a competent rider, but you do not have the expertise nor the um, physical equipment to lead a mounted regiment," said Burton. "Two good legs and equestrian excellent are required. They're right, I'm afraid."

"My equipment—" he stopped.

King William was sitting upright in his bed. "Dr. Wilson…I _knew_ there was something familiar about you! You look just like Johanna!" He paused. "You're not one of my illegitimate children, are you?"

"House, can you ask Dr. Wilson to please hold his tongue?" Johanna snapped. "As the princess soon to be queen, I forbid you to lead the Sixth Regiment. Or the First, Second, Third, Fourth and _Fifth. _I could have you put in restraints."

"Now you're talking!" House gave her a lascivious leer. "Hey, Wilson, how about me and Johanna have sex and you can wa—" he broke off and stared at King William. "You're sitting up."

King William was clearly puzzled. "What does it matter?"

House shook off the bedcovers, then pushed Johanna and Wilson out of his way. With a sound of pain, he gimped across the bedroom.

"You two look in the other direction. Wait, Johanna_, you_ look in the other direction. Wilson, come here." He lifted William's nightshirt. The pungent smell of unwashed body, unwashed nightshirt, and healing wound rose up. "He's sitting up without help. Did either of you notice if he used his arms to push himself up?"

"No, we were too busy trying to bring you out of your catatonia," Wilson said, then spoke to William. "How did you sit up? Could you describe it for us, please?"

"I no longer desire to lie down. So I did like so—" He demonstrated placing his hands on either side of himself—"and did as Dr. House says, I pushed myself up. It was somewhat painful."

House got in front of Wilson. "Your Majesty, bend over as if you were going to tie your shoes."

"Tie my what?"

"Oh, right—as if you were going to put on your shoes."

"I don't put on my own shoes."

This was going nowhere. House took the king's shoulders and pushed them downward. The king let out a squawk and pushed House away.

"You are a maniac, sir!" William said. "A brutal maniac!"

"That's what my mother used to say, makes me feel all warm inside." House watched the king slowly sit back up. His abdominal muscles were still weak. "Let's see if you can walk. Motherhips, you get one side of him, Burton, you get the other." House looked over at Marmaduke. "Go to the kitchen and get me a cup of boiling water."

"Yes, sir," Marmaduke grumbled.

The two men did as they were told. The king gave a protesting grunt, but stood up, holding on heavily to Motherhips and Burton's shoulders. He looked over at Wilson. "Are you absolutely certain you're not one of my bastards?"

"He's _my_ bastard." House looked William up and down. "Your legs are weak from disuse, but with some work you'll be standing and walking in no time. You've got to walk whether you like it or not."

"I shall not!"

"My game, my rules," House said.

"Please give me one of those eth cakes," William groaned. "It hurts."

"No can do, your Majesty. I don't know what they'll do to your gut. I don't care what they do to mine. You two, lower him back down on the bed."

"They make good nurses," Wilson observed.

"Yes, and without all of the bitching."

"Your Majesty, you're doing very well," said Wilson. "My colleague doesn't believe in treating patients like people. Trust me when I say you're making an excellent recovery. Both from the surgery and the treatment you got at Keddlestone."

"Stop kissing his ass. You're not going to get a knighthood out of this, Wilson."

House bent down and pulled the apothecary case from under the bed. He lifted the lid and a hinged shelf came out, with several small metal bottles. "Wilson, get some clean bandages. We have to clean and dress the wound."

"Please, no! Why do you wish to cause me such suffering?" William cried.

"So you won't die. Shut it."

Rolling his eyes, Wilson fetched the heavy cloth bandages. House drew out a vial of tea tree oil, shook some onto a piece of cloth, and waited for Wilson to unwrap the bandages around the king's torso. William's body odor was even worse under the wrappings, but the wound looked clean and not overly red.

William looked down. "There's no laudable pus," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm going to die."

"There's no such thing as laudable pus." House wiped the scar with the tea tree oil. William yelped. "You people know nothing about medicine. Come on, you big baby, you've been through a lot worse than this."

Johanna knelt down next to him, holding a wet rag. "Move over, House, let _me_ do this." She gave him a push, almost knocking him over. Gently, she swabbed her uncle's torso, reaching up under his nightshirt to his armpits, and then dropped the rag on the floor. She took the cloth from House and delicately dabbed the wound.

"You make a good nurse," House observed. "And you've got the bitch aspect down cold."

Johanna didn't look at him, but her neck reddened. Wilson stood nearby, his gaze moving from one to the other.

Marmaduke returned, holding a large mug. "Here's your hot water, doctor."

House stood and took the mug, then opened a small metal bottle with his other hand. He stood and shook what looked like matches into his hand, which he dropped into the hot water.

"Wait til this cools, then drink it. It's white willow bark. It contains salicin, an analgesic that's synthesized into acetylsalicylic acid." He thrust the mug at the king.

"Aspirin," said Wilson, who expertly wrapped the clean dressing around the king's midsection.

"It'll take the edge off. Now, pop quiz. What's your name?"

"His Majesty King William Richard Boadicea Melville Pont de Neuf of Princeton-on-Sea."

"Wow, you get extra points for remembering all of that. Where are you?"

"I'm at an inn. Not a pleasing inn at all."

"The aesthetics of the setting aren't useful. The date?" House turned to Johanna. "What is the date, anyway?"

Johanna stared at him. "Tuesday. October."

"Damn, you've given it away!" House turned back to the king. "Never mind."

"It's Tuesday in October," William said proudly.

"House, you've been gone since _April_," Wilson said in astonishment. "That means that you've been here more than six months!"

House stared at Wilson. "Six months? Why have I been here for six months?" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Everyone else has been around a lot longer, except for Johanna's parents." House sighed. The king was getting better, which meant this case would get boring really fast. "William is completely lucid." He turned back to the king. "You have to get on your feet as much as possible. Motherhips and Burton will help you. In fact, Motherhips will get a real kick out of it. And Burton will get a kick out of Motherhips getting a kick out of it, so it's like a convalescent circle jerk."

"What _are _you talking about, doctor?"

"What's a circle jerk?" Burton asked eagerly.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Wilson and Johanna simultaneously, and glared at each other again.

Semple made his entrance (and that was the only phrase for it in House's mind) in a trim black jacket with silver buttons, and breeches. When he saw King William, he gave a deep bow. "Your Majesty looks extraordinarily well this morning," he said. House noted that Blond Beauty had somehow managed a bath and clean clothes. Unlike everybody else in the room.

"Ah! My dearest love!" Semple exclaimed, enfolding Johanna in his arms and kissing her. House's stomach clenched.

Johanna smiled back at him. "Good morning, my beloved. I've missed you."

"Whenever I am away from you, Johanna, all I can think about is when I shall return."

House briefly debated cracking Semple over the head with the fireplace poker.

"When she get so _big_?" William asked.

Semple ignored him, again kissing Johanna. And she did not seem to mind. After a minute, she stepped back. "Dearest, I appreciate your fervor, but not in front of other people."

"_Appreciate_?" House snapped.

"Shut up, House." Johanna studied Semple's jacket lapel. "My love, do you honestly believe that House should lead the Sixth Regiment? With his damaged leg? Would you consider relieving him of such an onerous duty, as a favor to me?"

"Sweetest one, I only wish I could. But Captain de la Fontaine or whatever he likes to call himself, is a renowned warrior. It has been decided."

Like hell Semple was going to let him get out of this predicament. House hoped that the note to Bertha was well on its way. He needed to get out of here. He imagined his father's contempt at running from a fight, but unlike his father, House didn't have an M16 in his possession.

Behind them, House noticed that King William had started kneading his hands again.

Fucking wonderful.

It had been decided that the rebels would leave the village and go back into hiding in the countryside. News of Johanna's appearance was no doubt spreading fast.

House took a bath at the inn, again in water so dirty it had flecks of fecal matter in it. Maybe next time he would lie down in one of the horse troughs. These people's immune systems were amazing. Although most of them looked like hell, so maybe that wasn't true.

Screw this, he needed some clean-ish water. Carrying his suit, his long white shirt sticking to his body, he went out to where the horses were. By the side of the inn was a water pump. Dropping his clothes on the ground, House vigorously pumped the water, splashing it on himself, holding his head under the stream. He reached for a bucket, filled it with water, then dumped it over his head. _God,_ that felt good.

"Ah, Captain de la Fontaine!" Semple came striding toward him. House wondered what would happen if he hit Semple with the bucket.

"Semple." House gave him a courteous nod. "You'd rather watch me bathe than get dirty with Her Royal Sluttiness?"

Semple smiled. "As much of a pleasure as it is to see you cavorting in the water like a demented bear cub, I thought you'd like to see something I have in my possession."

"Let me guess—your cut-lass."

His remark was greeted by a chortle. "Heavens, no! It's something much rarer."

Semple opened his hand to reveal House's note to Bertha, crumpled.

"You're a fool to trust anyone here, Captain. And by the way, the wording of your note is feeble-minded. Like yourself."

Semple turned and walked way, leaving House staring after him. 


	103. Chapter 103

"COME BACK HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

Semple turned with a smile. "Yes?"

"So, it's another round of Power, Power, Who's Got The Power. You win, okay?"

Semple walked back towards him, still smiling. With elaborate unconcern, House reached down for his breeches and shook them out. When the other man reached him, he put his hand on Semple's broad shoulder to steady himself as he stepped into his breeches, ignoring Semple's indignant start.

"So you got Bertha's note. So she won't be getting us out of here. That's one for your side. Now, on my side—" House paused.

"There isn't anything on your side, Captain. I would have thought you would have realized that by now." Semple sighed. "You are a fool, sir. To think that anyone here would not have gone straight to me with that letter."

House buttoned up his breeches and stuffed his shirt into them. "You have a point, Simple. But you _have_ to kill me. Not only for spite. Because I know how lousy you are in bed."

Semple stepped back, his smile fading. "I do not take your meaning."

"I know, sitting around the campfire with the guys after a hearty massacre, a few flagons of mead, tongues get loosened. This kind of information ruins a guy's reputation—"

"Explain yourself, sir!"

"I'm in the room below yours. Did you know, not only can you hear two people having sex, you can actually _hear_ premature ejaculation? Well, not the ejaculation part, but the rustling, thumping, then—"he leaned forward—"over! The average length of sexual intercourse before ejaculation is between three to seven minutes. Except me, I'm two hours on a bad day. You don't even last two minutes." House watched Semple. "I hear _everything_."

"You are speaking nonsense, old man."

House looked him directly in the eyes.

"Our little secret, Simple—you can't _stand_ Johanna. She's dense enough to fall for your 'my sweet maiden' act. Even if she doesn't love you, she thinks you love her. But, you don't touch her unless you have to. No impulsive tender caresses, no nibbling her ear, no brushing against her so you can feel her tits. She might as well be your grandmother. Of course, if you're having sex with your grandmother, that would explain everything—"

Semple gripped House by the neck with one large hand. "BE QUIET!" He shook House, hard.

"Johanna's fortunate she can't see your face when she's not looking at you." House couldn't help grinning at Semple's rage, even though he was having trouble breathing. "How do you do it?" he gasped. "Does she have to keep all of her clothes on? Do you fantasize she's someone else? Male? Female? Or do you imagine you're fucking the _actual crown jewels_ instead of their potential owner? You've gambled away all of your money, Semple. Those royal coffers could make any man get it up."

Semple let go of House's neck. But before House could get a breath, Semple slapped him across the face. House had to fight to keep his balance.

"You jackass, do you think love has anything to do with this match? We were promised to each other as children. Now that her parents are deceased, there is nothing standing in our way. Affection is what a member of royalty hopes for in wedlock. Pleasure can be found elsewhere. That is how it always has been, and that is how it shall continue to be."

"I'm not an idiot. I know royalty doesn't marry for love. She'd be marrying you for repulsion."

Semple shrugged. "It's of no consequence to me if she loves you, if Johanna _pines_ for you. Because I am Lord Marmaduke Semple MacPherson Bout'A Bout Des Oiseaux, the _only_ man in this kingdom qualified to take her for my bride. Her Highness knows it. And she knows she is to bear the royal heir. You've perverted Johanna's thinking, you've confused her, you've put thoughts in her head that are neither healthy nor appropriate."

"Have you ever thought about the fact that Johanna has had so many lovers and has never gotten pregnant?" House wiped the blood from the side of his mouth. "You won't have an heir. Not a chance."

Semple punched House hard in the stomach, sending him gasping to the ground.

"I want you slaughtered in battle. I want your throat sliced open and your disfigured body trampled to death under the horses' hooves." Semple said with a sneer. "I want to see Johanna's face when she receives the news." He lifted his boot to kick House in the face.

"STOP IT!"

Semple turned around. House looked over to see Johanna aiming a flintlock pistol at her fiancé.

"Crazybitch time," House muttered.

"Get _away_ from him. Semple, I mean it!"

Semple recovered himself admirably. As he moved away from House, he held out his hands, palms up. "My darling heart, what are you thinking? A noblewoman does conduct herself in this fashion—"

"He's never done anything to you! You strike him like a mongrel! I won't have it! He is my father's physician and my former protector. _Help him up!_ Or by heaven I will shoot you in the shoulder. I know precisely where the joint is." Johanna's brown eyes were wide and staring. House knew that look. It meant anything could happen. Her left hand, holding the gun, was steady.

"Do what she says," House muttered. "Her Highness is a damn good shot, Pretty Boy."

"I _command_ you to give him the respect he deserves."

Semple's grimaced. He bent down and helped House to his feet, then picked up House's jacket from the ground and handed it to him. "My deepest apologies, Captain, I shall henceforth be mindful of my behavior."

House continued to speak in a low voice. "You're luckier than you think. If she'd heard you, you'd be a rapidly cooling corpse." House gave Semple a little shove toward Johanna. "Go on, big guy, make with the hearts and flowers."

Semple walked to Johanna and took her free hand. House could not hear what he was saying. She lowered the pistol and glanced over at House, then glanced away, her head high.

"This is the best way I can think of to get out of packing everything," House said, patting Storm's side. Burton finished saddling the horse, pulling the cinch as tight as possible. He had given House the steadier horse, taking Smoke for himself. Smoke danced and tried to back away when he was saddled and bridled.

"I do wish my darling Quincy was not alone with Dr. Wilson," Burton said, looking back at the inn uneasily. House and Burton were in the paddock near the stable. This was House's fifth lesson. His childhood skill had returned, albeit accompanied by extreme pain. As there were no riding boots to be procured, he wore the same leather shoes he had been wearing for months.

"Darling Wilson should be out here," House remarked. "But maybe he and Mom-Ass are bareback as we speak."

"Bite your tongue, House!"

House had to bounce up, gripping the saddle and Storm's mane to get his left foot in the stirrup and his right leg swung over the other side. _Sonovabitch, that hurt_! Even two eth tablets before the lesson didn't help all that much.

"I don't see why we don't use something to help me up," he groused, gathering up the reins. "I'm in pain." Storm snorted and swayed from side to side. Unbidden, the image of the day he'd had sex with Johanna on top of this horse came into his mind. He was instantly aroused_. I don't need help getting __that __up_.

Burton replied with equanimity, "You must hold your typical impatience if we are to teach you to ride well enough by the time you lead the regiment." He regarded them both. "Today, we are going to practice your rising trot."

"It hurts." House knew he was whining, but he didn't care. It did hurt.

"It shouldn't if you're doing it correctly. Remember to keep your toe _under_ your knee, not in front. Good. Let us begin."

Burton expertly mounted Smoke and urged him ahead, watching House. "Chest forward from the hips. Hips, House!"

House bounced awkwardly on Storm's back. "Hips yourself, asshole."

"Rise, hips forward, down lightly, rise, hips forward, down lightly, that's better, ride in rhythm with Storm, the old boy knows what he's doing, don't you?"

"That makes one of us."

"Grip with your lower legs, House, not your thighs!" Burton leaned over and lightly tapped House's right calf with a riding crop.

"Grip with your lower legs, House!" Wilson was leaning on the wooden paddock fence, grinning. His white shirt was getting grimy, and like House and Johanna, his hair had grown considerably. Except that Wilson did try to keep his somewhat cleaned and combed, a futile effort under the circumstances.

"_You_ grip with your lower legs," House snapped. "Or was that what you were doing with Motherhips?"

"He was helping me change the king's dressing and give him a sponge bath. Our patient is doing extremely well. He's walking without assistance."

"Dr. Wilson, do you know how to ride a horse?" asked Burton, bringing Smoke closer to the fence.

Wilson blanched. "Ah—no—my parents thought I'd get hurt—"

House smiled. "Wilson, riding a horse is necessary here. And it's easy."

The truth of it was that at the beginning of the first three lessons, House could not get the hang of putting on the horse's tack, or mounting, or even sitting in the saddle. Since he almost always learned everything immediately, this was particularly infuriating.

But now he had Wilson to mock. That made this ordeal worth it.

Burton brought Smoke to a halt and dismounted. "No time like the present, Dr. Wilson. Smoke here is a bit skittish, but I'll be holding the reins." He looked down at Wilson's feet. "It is a pity that no one here has riding boots. At the palace, we had rows of them, polished, in every size imaginable."

"Without boots, I can't ride, can I?"

"I'm not wearing any," House said proudly.

Obviously scared stiff, Wilson climbed over the paddock fence and landed in the muck. "Oh, God," he muttered. He stared at Smoke as if the horse was going to eat him alive. Yes, this was definitely making the lesson much more fun.

Burton guided Wilson to Smoke's left side. The horse stepped away, but Burton moved him back with a jerk of the reins. "I've already checked the girth," he said.

"Yes, that is a big horse," Wilson said. Burton gave him a look.

"Now, as to mounting. You will put your left foot in the left stirrup, bounce on your right leg, then jump into the saddle."

"_Jump_?"

"If I can do it, Wilson, you can do it. Pretend you're jumping Glinda's bones."

Burton's face became stony.

"House! That's not funny." Wilson turned to Burton. "I—I haven't gone near him, Burton, you know that, don't you?"

"Put your left foot in the stirrup," Burton replied tonelessly. "Now, hop around on your right foot until you are squarely on Smoke's side."

Wilson managed, after a few tries, to get his left foot in the stirrup, sliding in the muck of the paddock. When he hopped, his right foot slid and he fell to the ground. House chuckled. Giving him a murderous glare, Wilson picked himself up, brushed off some of the muck, and again got his left foot in the stirrup.

"Dr. Wilson, grasp the pommel of the saddle—the _front_—with your right hand. Now, hop." Burton held Smoke's reins tightly.

"I'm _hopping_," Wilson said through gritted teeth.

"Up you get! Use your left leg to _push_ yourself upwards! Don't grab Smoke's mane—"

Wilson landed crosswise on the horse's back. Smoke gave a frightened nicker and started trying to move away from Burton.

"Beautiful style, Wilson," House called. "As graceful as a seven-year-old girl." He let his voice choke. "My baby is riding a horse."

"Go fuck yourself, House."

Burton helped Wilson down, then brought Smoke into line again, holding the reins even more tightly. "Dr. Wilson, mounting a horse for the first time is much harder than it appears. Don't let House throw you off. You know that's his way."

"You think?"

The procedure was repeated. This time, Wilson managed to scramble atop Smoke and get his right leg over the side. He sat in the saddle, rigid, holding on to the pommel for dear life. Burton checked that the stirrups were the right length, a smile twitching his mouth.

"I am going to lead Smoke around the paddock, with Dr. House riding alongside. Try to relax, Dr. Wilson, it is essential for balance."

"I'm going to fall off and get trampled and die," Wilson blurted.

"Now, is that any way to think, Wilson?" House chided. "Even if it _is_ true."

"Dr. Wilson, no rider under my instruction has been badly injured. Try to follow the horse's rhythm with your own. Think of it as dancing."

Wilson made his effort to relax his body, not loosening his death grip on the pommel. Burton said "Walk on," to Smoke, and the large horse started forward.

"Wait—is that what the horse is supposed to do?" Wilson said.

"Yes, Dr. Wilson." Burton turned back to Smoke. "Walk on."

House guided Storm alongside Smoke. He relished being the experienced rider, watching Wilson hyperventilate.

"Oh, this is gonna be _so_ much fun," House said.

Wilson shot a look at him that would cut through glass.

"I'm glad you freaks can keep a secret," House said to Motherhips. The latter was holding hands with Burton. House dug an eth tablet from his pocket and gave it to Motherhips, who swallowed it dry.

"_Thank you_, House."

"You should thank me. My stash is running low. Excuse me; I have to have a bag put over my head."

A group of men approached him, led by John. House bowed his head. "Hope the cloth is softer this time, I have delicate skin."

This time, House looked down as much as the hood allowed, following the roots, stones, and any other markers. The wind was blowing across his right side to the left. It was from the east, which meant they were traveling north. He had made sure to hold on to his cane, which one of the men used to tie his hands behind House's back. Damned if he was going to climb all of those stairs without it. Tracking his progress made the ride seem somewhat faster, and now he knew how to sit on a horse properly. As before, there were ten men riding along with him.

There were the creaks and cracks of the wooden bridge, and then the party came to a halt. House was again pulled off from the left side, landing on his right leg. He tried not to show how much it hurt. After the hood was pulled off, he looked around for Big Ken. The huge man stood near the entryway of the ancient castle.

"Hey! Ken!" House yelled. "Ready for stair duty?"

At House's yell, Big Ken turned and his ruddy face lit up. He lumbered over, brushing aside the other men. "Captain, how are you faring?"

"Do not speak to the Captain, you lumpkin!" one of Semple's men shouted.

"Oh, shut up, moron," House said. To Big Ken he said, "I'm faring."

"You got your cane this time."

"Yes, but that doesn't make those damn stairs much easier."

"Good evening, Captain," said Gap-Tooth, holding his torch aloft.

House did not bother to answer. Instead, as before, he leaned on Big Ken as they walked into the first of the three crumbling rooms, led by John and Gap-Tooth.

"Ken, I need your help," he whispered. "More than helping me up the stairs. But you'll be on Semple's naughty list."

John glanced back at them.

"I'm asking him to fellate me," House said cheerfully. "Big men, you know—"

John turned back, pretending not to have heard.

"Whatever you need, sir. I am no friend of the Baron's. He'll send men like me in early."

"Because you're as big as an ox cart?"

Ken nodded.

House whispered, "That's exactly why I need your help. All of that bulk is useful."

As they hop-walked up the stairs toward the war room, House explained what he wanted Big Ken to do. When the group arrived at the wooden door, Gap-Tooth opened it, following House and John in. House glanced at Ken and smiled.

Once again, John and House took their seats at the huge wooden table, the map laid across it.

"Gentlemen, you remember Captain Rapports Sexuels Avec Des Canards de la Fontaine," said Semple, with a small bow. "Captain, I'm sure you remember this is my Commanding Officer, Baron Marcus Alan Tortues De Mer Lambinantes of Merkin., The Baron's Second in Command, Sir Marmaduke Succion Des Parties Génitales De Sanglier Courtenay. Quartermaster General, Lord Aime Un Chatouillement Sur Son Palais Mou Marmaduke Davidson, military secretary; and Captain Russell Consommation Des Oiseaux Chanteurs Wainsborough, Captain of the Seventh Regiment."

House smiled and leaned back in his chair. "To be honest, I don't remember a single one of you. Except the fat one. Baron Marcus Alan, am I right?"

The Baron smiled back tightly. "Ah, yes, I remember your wit, if one could call it that."

"No, call it 'I don't care.'" House frowned.

"Gentleman, the time for action has come," said Semple. "Messengers must be sent through the countryside, we must assemble our troops as soon as possible. Each messenger will carry a burning cross dipped in dog's blood. If the cross is not burning, our men's instructions are to shoot. This shall happen between the hours of midnight and two over the next week."

"Isn't that too soon?" asked Semple's second in command, a tall scarecrow of a man with extremely long nose hairs. "I vote for caution. Three weeks at least. The messengers will surely be spotted and caught at such a frenetic pace"

"It's their job not to be caught, Sir Marmaduke," snapped Baron Marcus Alan. The second in command dropped his eyes.

"As you say, Baron."

House raised his hand like a schoolboy.

"What is it, Captain?" Semple asked wearily.

"You say this week, Sir Marmaduke says it's too soon. There's something odd here. For one, why are we still in the village?" He watched the other men's' faces. "Why haven't you spirited Johanna out of there?"

"She and the King have been kept under watch," said Sir Marmaduke. "They have not left the inn since the day you broke into the doctor's office."

"Yes, she's six feet tall, you don't think she's recognizable? That the servants wouldn't have noticed that an Amazon is living with you, Semple? Not to mention the King. There's got to be tongues flapping downstairs."

"Do you doubt that I have not given everything to this mission?" Semple's face reddened. "Do you doubt that I intend to put Johanna on the throne?"

""No, I don't doubt it for a minute. You've been braying about it enough. It's not you, Semple. You can stop acting so damn noble."

"That's nonsense," Baron Marcus Alan said.

"Oh?" House steepled his fingers. "Gentlemen, we have a traitor in our midst."

The expressions on the faces of the other men were highly gratifying to watch. _Shock and awe_, House thought. One expression in particular caught his eye.

"I've done a little asking around," he said. "It's a matter of simple mathematics. Who has the most to gain and the least to lose if he betrays your plans?" House paused for dramatic effect.

"Who?" said the Quartermaster General. "I demand you tell us who you think the traitor is."

"I don't think he is, I know he is," House said easily. "Sir Marmaduke Succion Des Parties Génitales De Sanglier Courtenay, your Second in Command." He looked over at Sir Marmaduke. "Your land has been sold off to these gentlemen here, and your tenant farmers and indentured servants along with them. So, what is the rebellion going to get you? On the other hand, if you work for the Prince Regent as a spy, your reward is going to be a lot more than honor, and really, who gives a flying fuck about honor? That's why you want the additional weeks. In fact, I'm willing to bet that your loyal militias are ringing the village right now. They probably have some dumb-ass name like South West Rutgers Fife and Drum Yeomanry Volunteers Flying Artillery." House looked over at Semple. "Sir Marmaduke here makes sure Her Royal Highness gets killed, that you're captured, and something _terribly nasty_ happens to King William." House made a face. "The only thing that matters to me is my patient and Johanna, so I'd rather they not be assassinated. I'm funny that way."

"But—but—how could you question my loyalty, your Lordship?" Sir Marmaduke turned a pale face to Semple.

"You should question your valet's loyalty," House said. "A certain servant of mine, who can be _extremely_ seductive, was willing to share favors with your man in exchange for information. Glinda is fantastic at pillow talk."

Chaos broke out, all of the men standing and talking at once. Sir Marmaduke held up his hands, looking terrified.

House backed quickly to the door, pushing Gap-Tooth out of the way.

Big Ken was waiting outside, along with the other men. House collapsed into the man's massive arms.

"Beware, men!" Big Ken yelled. "This man has the king's evil!" The king's evil was scrofula, a tuberculous swelling of the lymph glands, and thought highly contagious. House allowed his eyes to droop. "I feel ill." Nobody would look at his neck too closely for swelling, especially this pack of retards.

"Out of the way!" Ken bellowed. "King's evil! King's evil!"

Cries of "king's evil!" rippled through the group, and they all backed away. Ken half carried House down the stairs, yelling at each man they passed, "King's evil!" The men jumped away, scared of catching scrofula.

At the base of the stairs, Ken and House made their way through the dank moldy rooms. Behind them, House could hear the shouts of Semple and his generals. Fuck 'em.

Ken boosted House up onto a bay gelding.

"Thanks," House said. "When they get out here, collapse and rub at your neck. It'll keep you out of the militia."

"Good luck, Captain," Ken said, and slapped the horse hard on the flank. House was jarred as the horse bolted forwards.

House was nobody's goddamned martyr.

He rode south, trying to remember the markers he had seen below his hood. _Jesus Christ playing ice hockey_, his leg hurt! He hung on, pressing his calves hard against the horse's sides, trying to ignore the cramping and stinging in his thigh. His hair kept getting in his eyes and he had to spit strands out of his mouth. _Serves me right for never seeing a barber. _At least without the hood the ride felt much shorter. He spotted the lights of the village and slowed the bay to a trot, glancing around the road as he did so. One of those local yokels could be hanging around anywhere. All House had was a cane in a scabbard, fat lot of good that would do as a weapon against a pistol.

When he came in sight of the village and the inn, he whistled the first few bars of "Mean Woman Blues." Out of the darkness came an answering whistle. House slowed the horse even more.

It was even darker than usual, because several of the lamps had been extinguished. In the semi-light, House saw a figure swinging open the gate to the stable yard.

"You made it!" Motherhips helped him off the horse. He almost gave House a hug but then thought the better of it. "Eldridge has everything arranged, but we have to move quickly." He gestured toward a bulky vehicle nearby. "It's a hay cart. Perfect for carrying everyone, and you can lower the back if need be. We've packed everything we need, provisions, clothes, and weapons. I confess, I stole the weapons out of Semple's room, but he won't miss them. Yet. We've got Storm and Smoke hitched up, and two horses tied to the back. We have to make haste! Johanna, Wilson and the king are all in the king's room. Eldridge and I will wait for you out here."

"Mom-Ass, you are amazing," House said approvingly.

"I know," Motherhips replied.

House retrieved his cane and limped quickly through the stable to one of the back doors.

##########################################################

"House!" Wilson exclaimed.

"You're alive!" Johanna cried.

They glared at each other.

King William was sitting up in bed, a heavy woolen shawl draped around his shoulders. "Don't be foolish, Johanna, Semple wouldn't murder House."

House looked at him. "Says you. Come on, kids, we've all got to get out of here. You too, Johanna. Grab some of those fur blankets. Wilson, you get the king out to the wagon."

"Wagon?" William sat up.

"Hay wagon, if you're going to get technical, Billy-Boy. Move it, people, I've got to get my apothecary case and some sweet, sweet eth. Burton and Motherhips are waiting for you in the stable yard. They're going to take us somewhere safe. And for Christ's sake, be quiet!"

Wilson stared at him. "But House—your regiment—"

"Screw my regiment," House said.

"But—"

"At first I thought it was part of the puzzle, and there was no escape. Must have been my father's loyalty to the Marines kicking in. But then my sanity kicked in."

"You had no right to put all of us through this." Wilson actually wagged his finger at House. "You should have said something. But no, you don't trust any of us, the only friends you've got."

"Relax. If I hadn't moped around the way I did, you poor saps would have known something was up."

Wilson put his hands on his hips. "You've had me worried sick!"

House felt a wave of warmth at the familiar sight. "God, you're gullible."


	104. Chapter 104

"It's called laundry," House said, thrusting the bundle into the startled woman's arms. "You might not know that term, so I'll make it clear. Wash. These. Clothes. With _Soap_."

"Sir, don't speak to my wife in that manner!" the farmer protested.

House sized him up. "From the looks of both of you, you don't know what soap is. And we'll want baths. Not bath, _baths._ I don't care how much firewood you use up, it's what we're paying you for."

The farmer turned to Burton, standing nearby. "You didn't tell me this man was such an arrogant ass!"

"It's rather difficult to describe," Burton replied. The group stood in front of the farmhouse, a two-story stone dwelling with a thatched roof. Behind it was a barn and cattle in pens. Both the farmer and his wife were brown and wrinkled from outdoor labor. The wife was missing most of her teeth. House hadn't bothered to listen when told him their names. It wasn't as if he'd need to know. As long as he had a safe place to sleep that didn't smell bad, that's what mattered.

Motherhips sulked in the background. House and Burton had convinced him that he had to dress as a man. The search parties would be looking for three men and two women. Motherhips bitched about tweed chafing his thighs but gave in. The group were all dressed as peasants, in dirty shirts, canvas cotton breeches and worn-out coats. The finish on House's cane was chipped and scraped, the silver handle dulled.

"Would it be possible to contact a barber?" asked Wilson.

"_God_, Wilson, you can be so _gay_ sometimes."

"Look who's talking. Besides, whose hair is so long they look like a refugee from Woodstock?"

"You look like a girl—oh, sorry, Johanna, I forgot, he does look like a girl."

"Do shut up, House," Johanna grumbled. Her arms were folded. She was wearing her long dark skirt, a man's white shirt, and a lace mob cap, her hair tied back with a leather strap. House remembered when the reason she wore a mob cap was to cover up how short her hair was. He couldn't help it; he was keen with anticipation. They were going to be sharing a room again, which meant sharing each other's bodies as well. As much as he wanted. There was a lot of time to be made up for.

Meanwhile, King William strolled across the grass, looking out over the green and purple rolling hills.

"My, this is fine-looking," he said. "It's as I remember it. Beautiful."

"Glad to see your brain has come along for the ride," said House.

William turned, his expression stern. "This is my realm, my kingdom, my fiefdom. You would not understand."

House nodded. "I understand. I had a fiefdom once."

The king chuckled. House could imagine William younger, when he was king. There was arrogance and an air of entitlement that House knew they shared. Thank God House would never have to be king of anything. He would be swamped by morons.

Then he saw that Johanna was walking slowly away, her head turning this way and that. When she came to the trunk of a large apple tree, she sat down, and then stretched out on her back on the grass.

"Excuse me, damsel in distress," House said.

When he reached her, Johanna was staring straight up, transfixed. House knelt down on his good knee, frowning.

"Johanna? You in there?"

Her eyes were reddened with tears. She let out a happy sigh. "House, look. Straight up through the leaves at the sky. It's breathtaking!"

"Your uncle is also gaping at the scenery. Must be a family trait." He paused. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm happy."

"Lying in the dirt staring at leaves makes you happy? God, if I knew that I'd have brought along some potted plants."

She turned her head to look at him. "For weeks I've been trapped in carriages, tents, inn rooms…I've only seen the sky through the windows. Semple didn't want me to be seen, you didn't want me to be seen. But it's not being seen, it's _seeing._ Look up at the sky through the leaves. They're starting to turn. The leaves are so thick you can only glimpse the sun. House, I feel so _free_!" She grinned, dimpling.

Moved, he took her left hand and kissed it. Her skin was still soft, the hand large and well-shaped, with long, tapering fingers. Johanna's face was as beautiful to him as always, the glow of happiness making her radiant. His chest tightened.

"Lay next to me, House."

He lowered himself to the ground, putting his cane at a slight distance. The grass was sparse from lack of sun under the great tree. He was reminded of the bumpy dirt floors in the tents.

The tree's branches were heavy with green apples turning red and bright green leaves. _My luck, one of those is going to fall on my head_, House thought.

"In the old days, my lovers would have said I was like a ripe, luscious apple. Or an apple waiting to be bitten into and savored. Or Eve's apple, tempting my lover into danger." She grimaced. "What a load of manure, as you would say. _Thank you_ for not saying I remind you of an apple."

"Wrong sex. Those are Crimson _King_ apples."

She sighed again. "I miss the summer palace. Remember Grandmother forcing us to kiss?"

"I must remember to write her a thank you note." House leaned over and kissed Johanna. The breeze ruffled their hair. "Yeah, I miss plumbing, and clean sheets, and mattresses, and mostly the piano." He brushed a strand of hair from her face.

"It's terrible that you don't have a piano. You play blue so well. You'll have one when this is all over." She turned her head. "The others can see us."

"Fuck the others."

"I'd rather you fuck me, House."

"How convenient! My New Year's resolution is to violate you. My right hand has been a _lousy_ substitute." He kissed her again, a slow, soft kiss that barely tickled her lips. He stroked the mole near her mouth, then traced a slow line across her lips with his finger. She closed her eyes, her face the embodiment of bliss. He slid his hand along her face, faintly aroused. A crow in the tree cawed, to be answered by another caw.

Her chocolate brown eyes met his. "I love you so much, House, I can hardly stand it. Thank you."

He felt himself jumping back internally. Not _this._ "Thank me for what? Living like animals? Hiding all the time? Getting shot at? A price on my head? You're welcome."

Johanna sat up, pulling herself upright. "I should have known. You are a coward. I have no doubt you would be a formidable opponent on the battlefield, but here—you are—are— a _twat_." Quickly, she stood and strode back toward the farmhouse.

House stayed where he was. When he felt that he had composed his face into the right uncaring attitude, he sat up.

When he reached the farmer, he said. "The lady and I have first dibs on the bridal suite."

The farm was on the outskirts of Pemberton, a town where petty criminals made up most of the population. With so many of the denizens themselves in hiding from the law, there was little chance of anyone ratting out House or his comrades.

The group was gathered on the stone porch. King William had been coaxed back from gawping at the landscape back to bed. The lowing of cows and the squawking of chickens was their background music. And of course, that richest and most omnipresent of smells, manure.

"How many guns do we have?" House asked. One of the legs of his chair was shorter than the others.

"Two pistols and two rifles," Burton answered. "Eldridge and I didn't have time to grab anything else. There are also four swords and a cutlass."

"I hope you stole that from Semple."

House had his answer from Burton's smile.

"How far are you hoping to get with this, House?" Wilson stared down at the weapons. "There aren't even enough guns to go around. What are we supposed to use? Rocks?"

"Hey, you can have a sword and hope those fencing lessons come in handy."

"Jesus, House." Wilson rolled his eyes.

House had brought out the apothecary case. It was considerably more battered than when they had started out, but, he thought, so was everybody. He pulled out the small drawer with the gold in it. There wasn't much. Then he checked his eth supply. Also not enough.

"Okay, Burton, Motherhips, you're the ones with the shady connections. Get this money changed, buy as many guns as you can, but first hit up the local chemist for eth." He glared at Motherhips. "And don't try stealing my eth again. I'll use a sword on your nether regions. Strike that; you'd be happier without them."

Motherhips regarded House with disdain. "Simply because I prefer to think of myself as a woman does not mean that I don't cherish my—my—"

"Genitals," House finished for him. "By the way, Wilson, how do his genitals stack up?"

"Nicely, thank you." Wilson said.

"Do stop it, both of you," Johanna snapped. "I've gotten accustomed to the way House speaks, but more than one of him is _quite_ enough."

Burton cleared his throat. "We will make certain that we are not followed back here, but we shall need the pistols."

"Take 'em. And memorize the addresses of the local physician and the apothecary. And get two pounds of hot red peppers while you're at it. I'm going to make jambalaya."

Despite their spat, when the time came to go to their room, House found himself shaking a little bit. "Well."

Johanna didn't seem to know where to look. "It's…quite nice."

The bedroom was actually superior to most of the places they had stayed. For one thing, it was clean, and the bed didn't look like it had been run over by a tractor. Late afternoon light filtered through the pale lace curtains. Dust moved lazily in the sunlight.

"Johanna," House said, and paused. "I'm sorry. I missed you." He studied her. Although she wasn't looking at him, her body inclined toward his, and it was clear she was waiting for him to make the first move.

"Johanna…" He held his arm out to her. She turned, brown hair falling into her eyes. She flipped it out of her face and took his hand. The feeling of her fingers was the feeling of soft, warm love. He wanted to cry.

He drew Johanna toward him, and took her other hand in his. "I've…uh…oh God. I'm sorry."

"House, I accept you the way you are. It's all right.."

Their foreheads touched. Her soft skin so luxurious, the weight of her skull—he had an image of her skull, her vertebrae, her entire skeleton, and his skeleton, and it was oddly, strangely sexy.

He shifted his head and ran the left side of his face down her silky cheek, feeling the indentations of her eye socket, the s-shaped curve of flesh from her cheek to her mouth, and the side of her chin. Johanna made a contented little noise. He kissed her neck, the underside of her chin, nibbling and kissing.

"That tickles!" Nevertheless, she leaned her head back, exposing her long white neck as he continued kissing. House dropped her hand and put his right arm around her waist, pulling her close. They kissed, exhausted but aroused, his tongue moving deep into her mouth and touching its tip against her soft palate. It made her giggle. She tried to repeat "that tickles" but with her mouth full she could only manage mangled syllables and a little drool.

He lifted his left arm and placed it near the top of her head, slowly letting it slide down to the back of her neck, moving his fingers ever so slightly, feeling frightened, please, God, let him think of a joke to stave off these feelings and this growing horrible vulnerability. Something to let him pull away from how she absorbed him, loved him, filled him up inside. But he couldn't. He couldn't talk. Drowned in the smell of her flesh and hair, his cock stiffening, he moaned.

By mutual consent they sank down next to each other on the quilted cotton cover of the bed, silent, gazing into each other's eyes. House kept dropping his gaze, because it was too vast. There was a world in their gaze that he wanted to run away from.

House rolled over on his back. It was splendid, lying next to her again, feeling the weight of her body next to his on the mattress.

"Your face is grimy." He played with her fingers.

"So is yours. House, you are exceedingly fortunate to have such _amazing_ blue eyes." She reached over and touched the tip of his nose. Then she took two fingers and gently pulled at it. House stuck out his tongue and licked the heel of her large hand.

She pulled her hand away, but then playfully held her open palm over his mouth. House obliged by lightly licking her palm. Emotion and hot lust was building inside of him. With both hands she held his face, turned it toward her and rubbed hers against his as he pressed his lips on her chin.

"House," she whispered, "I've missed you so much. Being near you has been like physical pain. Sometimes I've thought I would scream."

"Some screaming can be arranged," House gasped. He kissed her, hard, arms around her body, pulling her on top of him. He was growing rigid, the frightening feelings held at bay by his lust.

Clumsily, they undressed themselves, continuing to kiss, sitting up on the bed. They dropped their clothes on the bed, the floor, wherever. The one thing she helped him with was his breeches, being careful to slide the right leg off rather than pull it. The air felt cool around his penis once he was naked. He stared at her body, the long lean haunches, the curve of her hips, the large well-shaped feet. The strong, firm arms, the round browny-pink wrinkled areolas that were slightly too small for her breasts. The pubic hair, the brown of her hair and eyebrows, chestnut chocolate.

Johanna lay back, muscles slightly tense rather than relaxed, obviously also nervous.

He straddled her, gingerly swinging his right leg over. She grabbed his thighs and squeezed them, digging in her thumbs.

"OW!"

With a slow smile Johanna began fingering herself, moving her hips slightly, making herself ready for him. When he reached for her she pushed his hand away. He watched as she closed her eyes, biting her lips as she masturbated. Oh, God, he wanted her.

She asked by taking her hand away and spreading her legs wide. The brown bush of her pubic hair revealed her wet cunt, the clit swollen and pink.

He answered by pushing into her roughly, and suddenly the dam broke. All of his entire pent-up desire smashed out and drove him to fuck her hard and fast, pistoning in and out of her grainy slickness. Johanna kept up, gasping, moaning, and most disconcertingly, giggling. His higher mental function decided to take a vacation as he was swept along by sensation, the delicious feelings washing over him. It was pure ecstasy hearing her shout his name, and then shoving up, coming inside of her in waves and waves until he dropped back on top of her.

He couldn't help grinning. "I told you screaming was could be arranged."


	105. Chapter 105

"Christ, I'm starving!" House slapped the table. "Farmer Jones! I demand that I be fed. Coffee, eggs, bread, butter, ham and applesauce! You might feed my minions while you're at it."

Farmer Jones scowled at House from across the room. "My name's not Jones. It's—"

"Don't know, don't care. Tell your wife to get moving in the kitchen!" House leaned back, hands behind his head.

"Hetty!" the farmer bawled toward the kitchen. "Our guests want feeding!"

"What's got you in such a great mood?" asked Wilson, who sat to his right.

House gave him a condescending smile. "I got laid, I got a decent night's sleep on a real bed, and I had a tremendous bowel movement this morning. What more could I ask for?" He sat up straight. "BREAKFAST! THAT'S WHAT I COULD ASK FOR!"

Sitting to House's left, Johanna put her hands over her face in embarrassment and let out a muffled groan.

"I'm also high as a kite on eth," House added. "How are the rest of you? Wait, I don't care." He turned to Wilson. "Great morning, isn't it, sweetcheeks?"

"You're talking to the wrong brunette," Wilson said.

"That's right, my nickname for you is snakehips."

The farmer brought in a large platter of bread and butter, which he slapped down on the table. House ripped the end off the loaf with his hands, and stuffed a large chunk of it into his mouth. It was chewy, nutty and delicious.

"Oo you ha a ill?" he asked Farmer Jones.

"Do I have a what?"

"Oo you ha _a ill?"_

"Swallow first, House," Wilson said with a sigh.

"Do you have a flour mill?"

"Do we look like we do? We take our wheat to town to be ground." Farmer Jones looked at House with even more contempt, if such a thing was possible.

"Right. A dinky concern like yours would have to. Okay, do you have a coffee grinder? And don't tell me no. Everyone owns a coffee grinder."

"Yes."

"Good. I need it. Give it a good washing and hand it over when you're done."

"But why—"

House stopped him with an upraised hand. "Ah-ah! No questions, get the rest of our breakfast and shut up."

Farmer Jones turned on his boot heel and stomped out.

"Your charm is going to get us arrested," Johanna said.

King William sat across from him at the other end of the table. He was looking better every day, definitely more in the ballpark of being a ruler and not a whimpering pathetic mess.

"So, I say that—"

"Not important," House interrupted.

William's head snapped back. "Not important, sir? I am your king!"

"Not yet you're not. Unless you can pull a battle strategy out of your ass, you are one of my troops. I am not only your doctor, I am your field general." House looked around the table. "That goes for the rest of you. Semple and the rest of the War Council voted to start notifying the peasants in the next six days, so we have to work fast. They're going to send foot troops attack the south and east flanks of Rutgers first. Semple knows they're all going to be chopped into hamburger by the Prince Regent's militia. The palace is on the southwest, so we have to strike at the militia on the other southern side. Sucks for the peasants in the east, but we can't be everywhere at once."

There was a long silence, broken by Burton.

"You intend to take on the Prince Regent's militia? You're _insane_."

"Can you get us to the palace?"

"No, we can't get through—"

"Shut UP. Can you get us to the palace?"

"I can!" Johanna bobbed up in her seat, eyes shining. "I know every inch of those buildings. Do we have armaments?"

"House," Wilson said, his expression indicating that if they were standing, he would have his hands on his hips, "you have no idea what you're talking about. At most, we'll have a few guns."

House was so delighted with himself that he drummed his fingers on the table to the beat of "Onward Christian Soldiers."

"We'll have something _better_."

"_Onward, Christian soldiers, marching as to war, _

_with the cross of Jesus going on before-"_

House limped into the pantry, straight to the wooden shelves that held glass quart jars of canned fruit and vegetables. Opening the glass tops, he promptly dumped the contents into a bucket.

"House, what are you doing?" said Wilson behind him.

"My peaches!" Hetty, the farmer's wife exclaimed.

"Busy here." House continued working as fast as he could, opening and emptying the glass jars. "Wilson, tell this harridan to get a kettle of water boiling over the fire. Okay, that's twelve jars. Burton and Motherhips will boil them, Mom-Ass better get those dried peppers." House looked over at the farmer's wife, who was still standing at the door to the pantry, staring at the carnage he had created in her pantry.

"I'll need that coffee grinder now. And a pound of sugar. Stop staring and move it!"

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson asked, his voice firmer.

"It's what are we doing, Wilson. We're going to make _bombs._ Capsaicin bombs and smoke bombs. You are I are going to be in charge of making the capsaicin extract. God knows the rest of them would get it all over themselves and go blind. All right, soldier, get a move on."

"Are we ready, men? And woman? Johanna, Motherhips, do you have the sugar and saltpeter?"

"Yes, House."

"Yes, _General_." Johanna shook her head. "And here I thought your self-regard couldn't get any worse."

"Wilson, the red peppers?"

"Yes, House."

House gave him a look. "It's General House."

"Knock it off."

"Burton, how's the fire coming?"

"It's coming along fine, _General_, "Burton answered.

Their field of operation was a long rough wooden table behind the farmhouse. Burton had started a small fire in the firepit.

Lined up like soldiers in front of House and Wilson were the twelve glass canning jars. The coffee grinder, thoroughly cleaned, sat on the left of the jars. On the ground was a large jug of cheap gin. It was the closest thing to grain alcohol at the farmhouse. Thank God these people were drunks.

House and Wilson wore heavy aprons, gloves, and rags tied around the bottom of their faces. There wasn't any such thing as goggles, so they had to protect their eyes as best they could. They sat at one of the table, downwind.

"What I've give for a Leibig condenser," House said.

Seated at the other end of the table opposite were Motherhips and Johanna, large mixing bowls at the ready. Sacks of saltpeter and sugar sat before them.

"All right, troops. Ready?" House asked Wilson.

"Ready," Wilson responded, his hand on the handle of the coffee grinder.

House expertly scooped up exactly half a cup of peppers and poured them into the grinder. Trying to keep his face at a safe distance, Wilson ground them up. When the catchbox was full, he handed it to House, who carefully tipped the contents into the open glass jars.

"This is crazy," Wilson muttered underneath his facecloth.

"This is sound military thinking." House poured another half cup of peppers into the grinder.

Meanwhile, Motherhips and Johanna carefully measured out six cups of sugar, four cups of saltpeter, and put them in the mixing bowls. Burton had set a large iron skillet over the fire.

"Thanks for robbing the doctor's office last night," House said to Motherhips.

"It was our pleasure."

"Mine, too. Great to have such a huge supply of eth. Maybe I'll stay stoned from now on."

"How is that any different from usual?" said Wilson.

Johanna and Motherhips stirred the mixture they had with large wooden spoons. When the time came, Johanna poured her mixture into the skillet.

"Keep stirring 'til it liquefies," House barked. "Don't get any of it in your mouth or you won't want to have sex for a month. Not acceptable."

Wilson handed him another catchbox of ground red pepper. "We're doctors. We took an oath. We shouldn't—"

With an exasperated sigh, House glared at him.

"I get it. Yes, people will get hurt. Yes, some people might get _really_ hurt. Better we keep a few hundred people from being hacked to death. Keep grinding. How's it going, sweetcheeks?"

There was a brief moment where Wilson and Johanna weren't sure which one of them was supposed to answer.

"It's liquid," Johanna said.

"Mom-Ass, roll out the parchment paper. Flatten it over the top of the table. Okay, Burton, get pouring."

With only slight difficulty, Burton carried the heavy skillet full of liquid to the table, and poured the thick mess over the parchment paper. Johanna took the other mixing bowl.

"This is a thing I never imagined back when I met you at the grand ball." There was resignation in Johanna's tone. "Then again, if I hadn't met you, I'd be dead or in the tower by this time. In any event, we'll be dead soon enough."

"That's my girl," said House. "A cockeyed optimist."

"I'm _not_ cockeyed!" Johanna shot him a look and went back to the fire, where Burton waited. Johanna poured the second bowl into the skillet.

"What are they making?" Wilson said, grinding another batch.

"The joy of a young child's life. Firecrackers. Your parents didn't let you play with firecrackers?"

"Sparklers, yes, but that was about as far as it got."

House felt a pang of exasperation. "Those are going to be smoke bombs. We're going to assault the militia with them. Much more fun than lighting them in the back of a schoolbus. We'll aim the capsaicin bombs at the horses. Horses are big targets. They get hit with this stuff, they'll go nuts."

With excruciating care, the two doctors filled the twelve jars almost to the top. Then House carefully poured in the gin over the ground pepper, leaving just a bit of room at the top. House and Wilson sealed the jars, the liquid in each of them coloring a vivid dark red.

House swiveled around toward the others, pulling off his facemask. "Any one of you touches these jars, you will be punished. If not by me, then by the burning hot liquid that's in them. Come on, Wilson, we have to put these under the porch. I hope there aren't too many rat turds down there."

The next task was making smoke bombs. House waved the others away.

With quick precision, he tore the parchment paper under the mixture, folding each tangerine-sized blob into a paper-wrapped object, with room for a fuse on top. Johanna watched him, her face alight with glee.

"Our soldiers are going to be SO surprised," she said happily, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"You are SO a crazy bitch," House said, and smiled.

"All right, troops, our next task is make slings!" House announced. "I'm guessing that you were all hooligans, so you know how to make them."

"Yes, sir," Motherhips tittered.

"Oh, do be quiet," Burton snapped. "He's not even in uniform."

"Gather the materials and get to it!"

House insisted the others have basic slings, but he would have a "staff sling." It was easier to use than a regular sling and also looked a lot cooler.

"This is servant's work, "Johanna said, awkwardly cutting cowhide with the farmer's leather shears, sitting on the ground. She cut them into large rectangles. Or something resembling rectangles.

"Not listening!" House tossed over his shoulder. The rest of them sat around the table, cutting yarn. After debating the relative merits of rope, braided string, or yarn, House decided the yarn would be the easiest to work with and the most reliable.

"I think it's rather fun," Motherhips piped up. He had taken two different strands of yarn, brown and grayish blue, and was happily winding them around each other.

"You think everything's fun, moron."

"I shall ignore that remark, as I am a gentleman."

"Who spends half his time in a dress."

Motherhips made a _phht_ noise and went back to braiding his yarn.

House had a pole, roughly six feet, and he whittled a notch near the top. "That reminds me," he said as casually as he could manage, "Johanna, you're going to have to dress as a man."

"I _beg _your pardon?" Johanna stood up and put her hands on her hips. "It's bad enough I have to dress in these common garments. I _refuse_ to dress in men's clothes."

House looked up from where he worked. "Johanna, do the math. You're six feet tall. Compared to the other women in this kingdom, you're a giraffe. We won't get near the palace if you're wearing a dress. Or you," he added, looking at Motherhips.

"You wish to make my darling to wear _breeches_?" Burton exclaimed.

"He/she/it was wearing breeches before you hooked up. Get over yourself. So, how much firepower do we have?"

"There are ten pistols, two for each of us, four muskets, and two rifles. The rifles were more expensive than the rest put together, but they have the best aim. And ammunition, of course."'

House nodded, and went back to making his sling.

Before dawn the next morning, House and Wilson carried the jars out to the back of the farmhouse where House started another small fire. They were again wearing their protective garb. The others were still asleep. House hadn't wanted to slip out of bed and leave Johanna, but he didn't want to wake her up, either. He was worried enough for both of them. But this was going to work. Because it had to.

House placed a funnel with a piece of parchment in it in the mouth of the gin jug. Both he and Wilson were again in aprons and gloves.

Wilson handed House each jar. House poured most of the contents into the jug, replacing the paper as necessary.

The large cast iron skillet had been scoured, and they had to make sure it didn't get too hot. What alcohol was still in the jars was highly combustible. Carefully, Wilson poured the liquid from three of the jars into the skillet, keeping his face slightly averted. House barely swirled the contents. The alcohol burned off with excruciating slowness. House tipped what was left into a bucket, using a rag to wipe out the skillet, after which Wilson poured another three jars. They worked in silence, concentrating. One wrong move and the mixture could explode. The fire also had to be monitored so that it was not allowed to get too high.

When all twelve jars had been emptied, Wilson stamped the fire out. After they carried the jars back to the table, House tilted the bucket into each one so that an equal amount of concentrated capsaicin was in them. The final step was pouring back in the remaining alcohol.

House sat back with a wide grin. "One of these babies will take out ten soldiers."

"I'm glad _you're_ happy about it. And that psychotic girlfriend of yours."

"Okay, buzzkill, why don't you clean the skillet?"

When they were all finished, they had ten clay wine jugs filled with the capsaicin-laced alcohol, with cooking fat added for good measure. The fuses were thin rags, held in place by plugs made of a paste of flour and water.

Fuses had been put in the smoke bombs. They could be carried in a sack, but the capsaicin bombs were carefully packed by House and Wilson into wooden crates, cradled in bedding House had stolen from Farmer Jones. "He won't notice 'til we're out of here. And who cares if he does?" House remarked, carefully wrapping a bomb.

"You'd better hope we don't hit any bumps in the road," Wilson grumbled.

Burton and Motherhips helped Wilson pitch hay into the hay wagon. House used his leg as an excuse. It did hurt like a sonavabitch, but he was too busy planning to pay attention. As soon as dusk came, they were going to set out again.

As the sun began to set, the group emerged from the farmhouse.

"Thank you for helping me with the breeches," House heard Johanna say. He turned. She was talking to Motherhips. She was dressed in a man's peasant coat and rough cloth breeches. And she looked almost exactly like Wilson's younger sister.

Johanna stopped and looked at House. So did everyone else.

"Oh my God," House moaned. "Now how am I supposed to know which one of you to fuck?


	106. Chapter 106

"Where is my fur blanket?" King William spat a piece of hay out of his mouth. "I demand a fur blanket!"

"It's gone, moron. What stupid peasant with a pitchfork would believe you were a humble farmer if you were wrapped in mink?"

"He would believe I was the _king_!"

"And that's just we want, your head on a spike. Shut up and get comfy."

Once again, Burton was taking a slow course along the back roads. The others lay flat, covered by hay. House was sure he felt an insect crawling up inside the left leg of his breeches. He reached down and squashed whatever it was through the cloth.

He felt Johanna lying beside him in the hay, but he couldn't see her. Playfully, he reached back and squeezed her buttocks.

"Ow!" said Wilson.

"Oh, crap," House mumbled. "I thought you were the other one."

"Apologies for not having a vagina." Wilson whispered. It could barely be heard over the rocking and creaking of the wagon. Johanna was lying on House's other side, also covered in hay.

"Oy! Hey there!"

House froze. House heard Johanna clicking the safety catch of her pistol.

"Not now," he hissed at her.

"But we—"

"_Shhh!"_

"Hello!" House recognized the voice. He shifted the hay so that he could see out. "Oh my God! Big Ken!" House poked his head out. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Captain." Even in silhouette, Big Ken was massive.

"I asked first."

"The doctor caught on that I didn't have the king's evil. They're rounding up the men for the Mad Scarlet Yeomanry, and they were gonna put me in the front. Not for me, says I, and I ran away. I've been walking in the woods for two days. Do you have any water?"

House handed him out a jug. "Leave some for the rest of the class."

"Captain, could you give me a ride to the next village? I have cousins there. They could hide me"

"You might break the wagon."

"That's not funny, House," Wilson whispered.

Big Ken studied the hay wagon. "How many people do you have in there?"

"Too many. You want one? I have a spare king."

"House! Who is this man? I demand to know! He might be a spy." Johanna sat up and cocked her pistol at Big Ken. He gasped and took a step back, almost slipping on a tree root.

"This enormous side of beef saved my life. Put down that pistol, you gun-crazy idiot. Ken, you need a ride, you can have it _if_ it's in the direction of Rutgers."

"Yes, it is."

"Hop up on the box with Burton. You get in this part, it'll collapse."

Big Ken gave a good-natured laugh and climbed up next to Burton.

"You certainly are a _big_ man," Burton said flirtatiously.

Motherhips's furious voice came from somewhere under the hay. "_Eldridge!_"

"It's not as if you haven't been throwing yourself at Wilson, Quincy!"

"Keep me out of it," Wilson moaned.

"Yeah, right, you slut," said House.

Big Ken looked at Burton. "How many people _are_ there in that wagon?"

House found himself facing Big Ken's rear end. "Turn around, you ox!"

Big Ken swiveled so that he could look down. House pulled some straw from his mouth. "Do you know if the rebels have started for the palace? And which way are they going?"

"Yes, they started marching yesterday. The first bunch should reach there by tomorrow night, I'd wager. You want to keep away from the great road, that's where they're marching."

"And the great road is…?"

"Five miles west of here." Big Ken pointed. "They're going to take the road straight into Rutgers. I would have been first in line when the king's soldiers came out."

"Then we have to get there before tomorrow night," House said. "You hear that, Eldridge? No grabbing Big Ken's butt while you're driving. We're on a tight schedule."

The next morning, Burton pulled up alongside a wide running stream. While he unhooked and watered the horses, Big Ken hopped down and helped the others out of the wagon. House could see Ken was impressed by how many people had been riding in it. Moans of pain and bitching about sore backs ensued. All of the wagon's riders had hay marks, like pillow creases, on their faces.

"I think something bit me," said Wilson, scratching his leg. "Better give me some eth to pass around." He broke one of the cakes House gave him in half and downed it.

"Breeches itch," Motherhips whined, grabbing at the pills.

"Better than having something crawl up your skirt—and please, spare us the sex joke."

"A king shouldn't be treated this way," William grumbled as Ken virtually lifted him out.

"Yes, but you're not a king," Ken observed.

William glared at him. "I am His Majesty King William Richard Boadicea Melville Pont de Neuf of Princeton-on-Sea."

"Oh. Oh, yes, you are." Ken grinned.

House swallowed two eth cakes before saying, "Humor him."

"Your Majesty." Ken was enjoying this game. He gave King William a sweeping bow, and bumped backwards into Johanna.

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped.

Ken turned and saw Johanna and Wilson. "If I wasn't sober, I'd swear I was seeing double. Captain, you are traveling with a motley crew."

"As motley as they get." House found it both arousing and deeply disturbing to look at Johanna and Wilson dressed almost identically. He turned away. If only Johanna was wearing a skirt. To make it worse, he'd always wanted to have sex with twins, even if in his fantasies both of them had matching genitals.

"So, we're traveling parallel with the rebels," he mused.

"Yes, keeping going that way and you'll reach Rutgers in no time. There's an overlook near the palace, you can see the battle from up there. You'll be safe."

"An overlook? How near the palace?"

"When you stand on it, you're looking straight down toward the sentries. Children used to throw eggs at the soldiers, so they posted a guard there."

"I know where that is!" Johanna exclaimed. "We had to keep umbrellas over our heads when we went through the southern courtyard! I almost got struck by a tomato when I was eight years old."

"I always wanted to hit a soldier with an egg."

"Don't worry; we'll throw one for you."

"Johanna, do you know how to get there?"

"Of course I do, House, once we get closer to the city."

Ken put a massive paw on House's shoulder. "I'll be on my way now. My cousins are only a day's walk from here. Best of luck to all of you."

"Don't get caught by any wayward yeomanry," House said.

Big Ken smiled and went down to the stream. After taking a long drink, he disappeared into the woods.

"We don't look _that_ much alike," said Johanna.

"Yes, you do," House said despairingly. He limped down to the stream. Not only was he thirsty, he needed to take a wicked piss.

The others were resting. Burton, exhausted, slept with his head in Motherhips's lap. There was a tinge of fall in the air. House walked a short distance and down a rough path away from them. He looked overhead, supporting himself on his cane. The foliage was changing color, into oranges, reds, and browns.

"Looks like home, doesn't it?" said Wilson next to him.

House was startled. "It is home."

"I mean New Jersey, House. You don't want to go home?"

House looked at his friend. "A, I don't see it as an option, and B, I like it here."

"You can't possibly." Wilson put his hands on his hips. "It's chaotic, and dirty, and everybody's promiscuous—"

"What's not to like?" House surprised himself even as the words left his mouth. "I _do_ like it here. It's not boring. It would be even better if I wasn't in pain, but you can't always get what you want."

"It will get boring, House. Everything gets boring to you eventually."

"This conversation is boring."

Silently, Wilson reached his arm around House, who tensed.

"Wilson, I told you—"

Wilson put his left hand on the back of House's head and pulled him into a kiss.

House pushed Wilson away. "I told you never to do this again."

"I wasn't listening," Wilson said. "Apparently, neither was your prick."

It was true, House's cock had hardened instantly. _Jesus Christ watering the lawn_, why did it have to be _that_ responsive? Wilson's eyes were locked on his.

"If you want to go back to the wagon and have a roll in the hay, I've already got seeds in my butt crack," House said, but he knew his voice lacked conviction_. _

_Oh, what the hell. _He relaxed into Wilson's grip. In no time flat they were kissing as though neither of them had kissed anyone else for ten years, all tongues and lips and teeth. The two men's bodies slapped together, Wilson steadying House with his free arm. House ran his fingers through Wilson's greasy shoulder-length hair, stroking his ears, caressing his nape. When it came to making out, Wilson didn't have Johanna's finesse, but what he lacked in style he more than made for in effort. House rubbed his cock against Wilson's solid thigh, each rub a throb of pleasure. Wilson pushed his crotch between House's legs. _Please, please don't let Johanna show up_, House begged his nonexistent God. _Or Motherhips. _

"Oh my, oh my, oh my."

House got his wish. Burton was staring at them, eyes glazed, jerking himself off.

"Christ almighty, Burton!" Wilson exclaimed, letting go of House.

Burton didn't hear them. Wilson gave House a _what-are-you-going-to-do?_ look.

"Penis interruptus," House growled. He was relieved and really, really disappointed. He started back towards where the wagon was. "Come on, Wilson, we've got a rebellion to screw up."


	107. Chapter 107

"We're one mile from the Rutgers overlook," Burton whispered down to the occupants of the wagon. "What do we do now?"

"Let's see how close we can get before we arm ourselves and go the rest of the way on foot," said House.

"The king does not walk! He rides!" William exclaimed.

"The king shuts the fuck up!"

King William drew himself up, the hay in his hair detracting from his royal demeanor a bit. "I am the ruler of this country, and I refuse to be treated any longer as a common peasant! Do not forget, doctor, my wrath can be terrible."

"Yeah, I'm scared shitless," House growled. He preferred this guy when he was a whimpering mess.

"House!" Wilson glared at him. "Let me handle this. Your Majesty, how long do you want to live?"

"That's an odd question, sir. If it were up to me, forever."

"Well, with that attitude, you'll be dead in the next twenty-four hours." Wilson sighed. "You do know, don't you, that there are armed sentries everywhere, and the last thing the Prince Regent wants is for you to turn up alive and in your right mind."

"When they see their king, they will bow down before me."

"They won't know you're their king. As far as anyone knows, you're still in the insane asylum."

"Restraining chair!" House exclaimed. King William started and stared at him. House looked apologetically at Wilson. "Sorry. Having a little fun."

Wilson pursed his lips in exasperation, but his voice remained sympathetic. "Your Majesty, what I'm trying to say is that you have to play this game for a while longer, or we're all going to be executed. You understand that, don't you? I'm only telling you this because we need you to resume the throne and become the leader these people require. Your Majesty has to undo the harm that the Prince Regent has done and set things right. That is what _all _of us want, as much as you do. And we are terribly sorry for the hardships you've had to endure. We would have done anything to spare you from them."

"Thank you, Dr. Wilson." William smiled. "When this is all behind us, perhaps I shall bestow a knighthood upon you."

_Wow_, Wilson was good.

"Long live the king!" Motherhips cried from under the hay.

"End of counseling session, Wilson, time for the friends and family to come in. Okay, everybody, sit up and be counted."

Motherhips popped up, looking at Wilson as though he wanted the man's autograph. Johanna rose, spitting hay out of her mouth. House wished she were closer to him, but they'd be out of this crapped-out wagon soon enough. He felt a twinge of guilt for making out with Wilson. _Jesus Christ shredding documents, stop being such a teenager._

"Here's the plan."

The wagon had rolled to a halt. Burton slid down as quietly as he could. He went to the front of the wagon and unhitched Smoke and Storm. "Good boys," he said, sadly scratching each of them under the chin. Storm nuzzled him.

They could hear the rumbling sound of the crowds beyond, shouts and shots being fired. House and the rest of his party loaded their equipment, including the smoke bombs. The capsaicin bombs were carefully unloaded from the wooden crates, still wrapped in Farmer Jones's bedding. House carried the smoke bombs, each of the others had to carry two capsaicin bombs.

"Whatever you do, don't trip and napalm yourselves," House warned. "These bombs are way more important than you are."

Through the trees, the sounds of the commotion grew louder. It was late morning. Of course, these people were such morons they would rush the palace in broad daylight. His thigh was in spasms and his hands were too full to swallow any eth. As it was, House could barely manage his cane.

The overlook came in sight. It was as steep as a cliff, the grass trampled, particularly as one emerged from the woods. Probably some kind of lovers' lane when there weren't people getting slaughtered.

"I count four sentries," Motherhips whispered. "Oh, if _only_ I had a dress on!"

"Go," House said in Johanna's ear.

"Here's luck," she said, and kissed him deeply on the mouth. Carefully, she placed the bombs on the ground. Then she pulled off her hat, shook her hair loose and tugged her shirt open nearly to the navel. With that, she went crashing loudly out of the woods toward the sentries.

"Help_, oh please, help_!"

House watched the sentries whirl around, guns at the ready. He enjoyed their slack-jawed amazement as they realized who she was.

"I'm Princess Johanna! I've run away from my captors, I've almost reached the palace, please, help me!" she begged.

There was a short silence.

"Don't you recognize me?" Johanna pleaded. "You must help me before they've discovered I've escaped!"

"Your Highness!" said the head sentry. They all dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Which provided a perfect opportunity for Johanna to clout the head sentry with the butt of her pistol. Motherhips and Burton moved at lightning speed and clobbered the remaining sentries before that they could even stand. All four lay on the ground, unconscious, their rifles in the grass.

"Motherhips, Burton, tie them up," House ordered. "Grab those rifles and your slings."

From the overlook, the entire city of Rutgers stretched out before them, a jumble of gray and brick buildings. The sky was a clear blue, almost cloudless. If it hadn't been for the screams below them, it would have been a great day for a picnic.

The royal palace was about 150 feet below the overlook. Johanna was right, she could have been hit with an egg from here. The palace itself was a jumble of Baroque architecture in pink brick and grey stone trim. House groaned inwardly, spotting the Inner Court Fountain. It was covered with cherubs. Fucking cherubs. Of course.

A huge mass of citizens had pushed in the entrance gates to the outer courtyard. House could almost see their faces.

The Prince Regent's troops, in dark blue coats, were on the attack. The soldiers hacked at the crowd with their swords; it didn't matter if it was a man, woman, or child. Blood covered everyone and everything. Deafening shrieks and cries rose from the crowd. The soldiers were still in a relatively tight formation, spreading out for maximum carnage.

"Armed and ready, people, these bombs won't throw themselves!" House shouted. With practiced precision, Johanna, Wilson, Motherhips, and Burton unwrapped the bombs, pulled out their slings, and loaded them. House dropped his cane, got his staff sling and rolled a bomb into the leather pouch. Then he drew out a box of wooden matches and handed them around.

"Remember, light the fuse _after_ you've got the bomb in the pouch, unless you like the sensation of burning to death."

The thin rag fuses took several seconds to ignite.

"FIRE!" House yelled, using both hands to whip his staff sling. A wine jug soared out into the air, curved, and fell directly against a horse's flank, bursting open and releasing the red hot mixture. The horse reared and bucked wildly, kicking off his rider. "Ha!" House cried.

Wilson groaned. "This is so wrong, House."

"Oh? You'd like to see those people get their limbs cut off? Strap on a pair!"

"I hate myself." He lit the fuse and slung his bomb into the militia.

The others flung the bombs down into the crowd where the soldiers were thickest. There was the sound of shattering pottery, some of them exploding against the wall of the palace, spraying the contents everywhere.

"I _got _one!" Johanna cheered. "Uncle, give me another bomb!"

"Here, my dear," said King William, handing over another wine jug. Everyone except Wilson whooped and cheered as the jugs flew down and burst, splashing out dark red oil and alcohol. The troops dropped their swords, clawing at their heads and arms. Horses whinnied and kicked.

Some of the soldiers fired toward House's team, but the angle was too steep to fire accurately. Shot flew yards above the bombers' heads.

"SMOKE BOMBS!" House yelled over the din, handing out more matches. "BE CAREFUL!"

The small paper packets were placed in slings, lit, and flung. Johanna let out a happy cry when the first one dissolved into a cloud of thick grey smoke. "It's magic!" she exclaimed. "Give me another one at once! Oh, _look _at their faces!"

The citizens were fleeing back out of the entrance gates, some dragging their comrades. Others lay dead on the courtyard. The flagstones were smeared with great puddles and pools of blood. As more smoke bombs rained down upon Prince Louis's troops, soldiers wheeled on their mounts, crashing into each other, weapons useless. It was almost impossible to see through the smoke. There was coughing and bellowing.

Through the thick smoke, House could make out the rebels falling back. They were organizing swiftly, and as the bombing stopped they charges the gates again. Only a handful of soldiers, disheveled and injured, remained to stop them. He lobbed his last smoke bomb down into the soldiers.

House jumped at a loud crack near his head. Johanna was firing a rifle toward the roof. She tore open another packet and reloaded. Soldiers were lining up on the roof. Her face was streaked with gunpowder and dirt. She dropped to the grass, cocked the rifle and fired, neatly hitting a soldier.

"Everybody, on the ground! Aim at the roof!" House yelled. "Burton, throw them guns!"

"Yes, House!" Burton pulled out the rifles, pistols and ammunition. These were quickly handed down the line.

Johanna tore another packet open with her teeth, poured in the gunpowder and reloaded. Her brown eyes were wide with glee. House smiled at her.

"You are a homicidal bitch."

"I love you too, House," she said, her attention fixed on her target. She picked off another soldier, sending him sailing to the ground.

"Dear heaven!" Motherhips exclaimed, as a shot buried itself in the soil next to him.

"William, get your ass back into the woods!" House yelled. "We can't have you shot!"

"But—"

"Do as I say or I'll kill you myself! _MOVE IT_!"

William scampered back the way they had come.

Wilson gave House a shocked look. House knew what it cost his friend inside to be actively injuring and killing people, even if the cause was right. He himself was both surprised and not surprised at how much he was enjoying this. He was a military brat, after all. Burton crawled on the ground to where the sentries' rifles were lying, grabbed them and crawled back.

"OOWWW!" he exclaimed. House glanced back. Burton was gripping his leg, blood running down his right calf. He had been hit in the fleshy part, nowhere near the fibular nerve or the tibial nerve

"Just a flesh wound, Burton, get those rifles over here!" House reloaded and fired at the soldiers along the turrets. Burton let go of his leg and kept crawling. When he reached the others, House snatched a rifle and shot. Between them, he and Johanna were taking out quite a few of the enemy. Motherhips was an excellent shot as well.

"RETREAT!" House called out. Painfully, he raised himself to his knees. Wilson grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. Shots thumped into the ground as they all grabbed the weapons, leaving the slings on the grass. Almost as one body they leapt up and ran into the forest. Wilson bent and scooped up House's cane, pulling House along with him. Motherhips did the same for Burton, who was whimpering. _Big baby_, House thought. _Damn. Now I'll have to share the eth._

They rushed, panting and sweating, through the trees, bushes and nettles to where they had left the hay wagon. The sun dappled through the trees. Smoke and Storm had wandered only a short distance away. Storm had his nose in one of the feedbags.

Burton dropped to the ground, moaning and holding his leg. Motherhips, wheezing from running, examined the wound. "Oh, my darling, you're bleeding! Dr. House, come quickly!"

"Tell your husband to put a sock in it," House wheezed. "It'll keep."

"Are they all dead?" King William asked eagerly.

"No, but we put a dent in their numbers," House gasped, trying to catch his breath. He looked at Wilson. "Thanks."

"As much fun it would have been to watch, I couldn't leave you out there crawling around."

"How dare you!" Johanna stuck her gunpowder smeared face in Wilson's. "House saved who knows how many of my people! Don't you dare speak to him that way!"

"Relax, Johanna. Your killing streak is over." House draped his arm around her broad shoulders. "Except for your size, you made a convincing damsel in distress."

"Oh shut up, House." Johanna grinned and kissed him, leaving a streak of gunpowder on his cheek.

House looked at her fondly. She really was out of her mind.

"I'm the one who's getting the knighthood," Wilson pointed out.

"Next stop: the tunnels!" House announced, and went to tend to Burton's wound. "Motherhips, you're driving."


	108. Chapter 108

"Okay, people," House said once everyone was back in the wagon. "How many tunnels? Where are they?"

"There's the service tunnel to the kitchen," Johanna answered. "It's the closest."

"And the most heavily guarded. Next!"

"The tunnel through the greenhouse," said William. "It can accommodate three men walking abreast."

"No, Uncle, it was torn out. They moved the greenhouse when they re-landscaped the rose gardens. That leaves only the tunnel to the old stables. I can get us from there to the secret passages. I explored every single one of them when I was a little girl." She smiled. "It's been kept up. I've used it several times for liaisons."

"Semple?" House growled.

"No, he entered through the front gates. I doubt if he knows where it is."

The startling din of cannon fire jolted all of them.

Shit, we're not moving fast enough. At the same time, House heard the sound of a horse and rider galloping nearby. He caught sight of a flash of red.

"Mom-Ass, unhitch Storm!"

"But I can't saddle—"

"Fuck the saddle. Unhitch him and gimme the reins."

"House, what are you doing?" Wilson yelped.

"I'll think of something witty when I get back!"

Motherhips moved as fast as he could, unhitching the big black horse and leading him around the hay wagon. "Boost me up," House ordered, settling onto the wide back. "The rest of you stay here until I come back. If I don't come back—well, you're screwed."

He kicked Storm and the horse lunged forward into the trees.

House ignored the pain in his leg, kicking Storm hard on the flanks, determined to catch up with the other rider. Presently he caught sight of him, a man in infantry uniform, riding a sable gelding. Even odds it was a courier.

"Oy! Hey! You there! STOP!"

The man pulled out a pistol and fired in House's direction.

"I'M NOT ARMED, MORON! STOP SHOOTING!"

House bent low over Storm's neck, out of the line of fire. The rider went thundering towards the low brush, also riding low. He was hoping to get House caught in the branches and unhorsed. Fuck that. House crouched down until his head was alongside the horse's. The rhythmic breaths of the horse as he galloped blew back into House's face.

Thrashing through the bushes and vines, House caught up with other rider.

"I'll shoot!" the man said.

"I have important military intelligence! Pull over, for God's sake! I'm unarmed!"

The courier stopped, pointing the pistol at House.

_Oh fuck this is going to hurt-_

When House came alongside, he pushed off of Smoke's back, tackling the courier and sending them both crashing to the stony ground. Pain screamed through his entire body as he landed on his back. The courier jumped on top of him.

"Stop it!" House protested. "Listen to me, you moron!" He tucked in his chin, hands covering his face as much as possible. The courier punched House's arms and mouth, balancing unsteadily on his knees above House.

_Oh fuck this is going to hurt **more**—_

House grabbed the courier's right knee and his waist. Using everything he had, he pulled the man over his own body and onto the ground, in the process rolling over onto his right side. He was in so much pain he felt dizzy. Their positions reversed, House pinned the courier's arms, and lifted his own right leg so that it lightly rested on the man's groin.

"What's the message?"

"It's not—not your business, man. My sworn duty is to our Commander in Chief."

House shifted his knee. "You that sure of your manhood?" He pressed down, causing the courier to swear. "Let me guess—the rebels are gathering at the south and southwest."

"You're one of them!" The man struggled, but House kept him pinned.

"What's the message? Don't try to fob off some bullshit—I already know the rebels' plan of attack."

The courier struggled again, but seemed to sense he was trapped. He stopped. "Yes, they're gathering at the south and southwest. There's been news they tried to breach the Outer Gates. Kill me if you want."

"I'm not going to kill you. I have another message for your Commander In Chief. The Second through the Fourteenth Mounted Regiments are in league with rebels. The other regiments only think they're guarding the palace. The traitors have hidden heavy artillery to turn on the Prince Regent's troops to sabotage the other regiments and any other infantry who're going to be in the line of fire."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why am I here instead of taking a dump in the woods? Are you really that stupid? Your boss will be unexpectedly short of personnel if you don't take me seriously." House picked himself up, and made sure he snatched the pistol from the ground. He was shaking. "I'd shoot you if I didn't want you to reach the palace. So get moving!"

Keeping his eyes on House, actually, the pistol in House's hand, the courier mounted the gelding, and galloped off.

House watched the courier go. There wasn't enough eth_ in the world... _

Pocketing the pistol, he clambered back onto Storm, cursing there was no one to help him up. Also grateful that no one could see how much trouble he was having. The big horse stood placidly. Finally House managed to boost himself up, then swung Storm around and headed back.

"House!" Wilson yelled from his perch atop the hay wagon. "What the hell?"

"I needed to deliver a message," House said. His mouth was parched, and tasted of dirt. His left jaw ached.

"What have you done to my horse?" Burton sat up, but moaned and grabbed his injured leg. "Damn it!"

"He needed exercise."

Wilson and Motherhips came running up. Together, they helped him down. House's legs buckled. "What were you thinking?" Wilson asked. "Taking off like a bat out of hell, leaving us here—why? What happened to you?"

House looked up at his friend. "I already said, I had to deliver a message. Save a few hundred lives. Even up the karmic score. You should be kvelling; _you're_ the one who gets his panties in a twist during combat."

"House, you left us here to be killed!"

"I left you heavily armed. Strap on a pair, Wilson, you would have been up to the challenge.

"There shouldn't have _been_ a challenge—"

"Stop lecturing me and get some eth."

"Get away from him!" Johanna snapped at Wilson. He stepped back, palms up in the air.

"Fine. He's your problem."

Johanna grabbed his arm and again pulled it around her shoulder, keeping him upright. "House, what were you thinking?"

"Oh God, one of you is bad enough."

Johanna sat up on the box next to Motherhips. Burton had fallen asleep after House gave him an eth. "The tunnel is half a mile north, toward the gatekeeper's lodge. Do you remember, Uncle William, you used to take me shooting?"

"Yes, you were a talented shot. And a handy skill it is. Do you remember the shooting parties?"

"Must have been lots more fun than this one." Wilson said.

"The only things that got shot were deer. And grouse. The occasional servant. But never the dogs. One always had to watch out for the dogs."

The sounds of cannons far off drifted sporadically to their ears. As Motherhips drove, the others lay beneath the hay, weapons pointed outward, watching the route for spies or soldiers.

They were moving farther away from the battle. It was surreal to hear the din far away. House was deeply frustrated that they had to go out of the way to get to the tunnel. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe they should have taken the service tunnel. The clip-clop of the horses' hooves sounded unusually crisp as the hay wagon rumbled along an elegant paved road.

Johanna called, "Motherhips, instead of taking the west road farther up, take the east road one quarter of a mile."

The wagon ground to a halt by a partly-collapsed stone bridge. "My predecessors built a bridge over the tunnel," King William said, "designed to appear unusable. Yes, this tunnel has a long and storied history. Johanna, dear, does it still lead to the old stables?"

"Yes, Uncle. The laborers have been using the stables for storage." Johanna ran up to the structure and quickly patted her hands along the side. "Wilson, I need your help!"

"That's a new one," Wilson muttered, climbing out of the wagon.

She gave House an apologetic look. "I need an able-bodied man. We have to scratch away the dirt," she told Wilson.

House watched as Wilson and Johanna, using their hands, scraped the dead leaves and dirt from the wall. The outline of two wooden doors emerged. Each door made half of an arch, altogether large enough to drive a carriage through. They were also heavy, and bolted shut.

"Help me with the bolt," Johanna said, breathing heavily.

"You sure you need it?" Wilson said.

"Yes, even if it's only from you," she snapped.

Together they pushed the huge iron bolt through the hinges. It fell to the ground with a tremendous thud. There were large round iron pull handles. Wilson and Johanna hauled the doors open, releasing a blast of musty, earthy air.

"How long is this tunnel?" Wilson gasped, and then sneezed.

"Not long. And we have bulls-eyes to let in light and air. But we shall still need to light the lantern."

The hanging lantern lit, the horses and hay wagon rode slowly into the tunnel.

"Shut the doors!" King William barked.

Everyone else looked at House.

"He's right, shut the doors."

"But we might get stuck in here!" Wilson's eyes widened. "We could suffocate, or the ceiling could cave in—"

"Or they could find the tunnel door wide open and come after us. My vote is for not getting killed, and mine is the only one that counts."

"No, it isn't!" exclaimed King William.

"It's the King's order. You want to lose that knighthood over a tunnel door?"

"Oh, all right." Wilson and Motherhips climbed down. The doors were as hard to pull shut as they had been to pull open.

The tunnel went gray. Besides the yellow light of the lantern, holes could be made out along the top, cross-hatched iron bars concealed by foliage and dead leaves. Wilson sneezed again.

Back in the carriage, Motherhips flicked the horses lightly. The tunnel floor was surprisingly smooth. The roughness of the stone walls flickered in the lantern light. A thick odor of must and mold made the entire group cough. House's eyes watered. If Johanna had used this tunnel for romantic rendezvous, her beaus probably had to take a bath when they arrived.

It was as if they were holding their collective breath. Even the horses seemed unnaturally quiet. By far the loudest sound was the squeaking and rumbling of the hay wagon

As they drew closer to the palace, the sounds of battle grew louder. The hay wagon stopped. The din was directly above their heads.

"We've reached home," Johanna said, staring upwards.


	109. Chapter 109

"The old stables are up that ramp." Johanna pointed to the right. "We should be able to drive the wagon right into it."

Motherhips gave the horses another flick of the whip, and the hay wagon rolled forward. The cannons were so thunderous that they must be firing nearby. From the sound, House guessed they were firing toward the rebels rather than vice versa. There was light ahead of them.

"I'll open the doors!" Johanna said. "You coming, Wilson?"

"Yes, your Highness." With an annoyed sigh, Wilson slid out of the wagon behind her. These doors were thinner, unlocked barn doors. Wilson and Johanna pushed each door outward. A welcome rush of fresh air bathed House's face. It was sunny outside.

After Motherhips helped House and King William out of the wagon, he went around the other side to check on his lover.

"House! Come here, please!" Motherhips had to shout to be heard above the din.

_Now what?_ House limped around the wagon. Burton lay there. One look at him confirmed he was spiking a fever. "Lemme see that leg," House said, brushing the hay off it. The bullet wound had gotten infected, no wonder, riding around bare-legged in this filthy medieval Model T. Burton's skin around the hole where the bullet had entered was inflamed, hot to the touch, and pus was starting to excrete. Just what they needed. Two gimps, one of them on the way to the morgue.

"Which way to the kitchen?" he barked at Johanna.

"It's the wrong way. We have to go there—" She pointed to the inside of the old stable. "There's a door that goes into a servants passage. It's never used."

"Which way is the wrong way?"

"There," she shouted. "But it's all the way across the stable yard! Then out into the vegetable garden. We have to go this way!" Johanna turned.

"Help him up," House told Motherhips.

"I'm so sorry, my love," Motherhips whispered to Burton, who was sweating.

"Thank you, my sweetest one." Burton leaned his head on Motherhips's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Can the sweet talk, we have to get him to the kitchen. The rest of you, wait here. If I—"

Before he could finish, Wilson stepped in front of him. The doctor's hands were on his hips. "House, you're not pulling this stunt again. We're coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"We are, and don't forget, we can outrun _both_ of you now."

House gave him a bright false smile. "Oh, snap!"

Wilson turned to the group. "Everybody, we're going to the kitchen." He turned back to House, frowning. "Why are we going to the kitchen?"

"My patient. If you want to risk your lives, fine, but don't come whining to me when you're dead." He looked at Motherhips. "I don't care how much your baby cries, we've got to move. Hold him up." He stepped away from Burton and grabbed his cane. "Showtime, folks!"

House bolted into the open stable yard. It was filled with broken carriage parts, wheels, large old doors, decaying tools, fence posts, piles of bricks, all of it covered in muck. Burton cried out in pain, Motherhips half-dragging him. Wilson helped King William, Johanna alongside. No guns were aimed at them. This was probably the last place anyone would think to look for rebels, or in their case, fugitives.

They'd made it to the other side of the stable yard. "Kitchen!" House demanded.

Johanna's eyes were wide. "Through the vegetable garden—_outside_."

"House, you're insane. You're risking our lives because he has an infected bullet wound?" Wilson shouted.

"Gunshot wound. They don't have bullets here yet."

"Semantics!" Wilson's eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. "Infected gunshot wound. We can take care of it later."

Motherhips turned, Burton's head lolling against his neck. "Wilson, do you think I'm going to let my husband die because you're afraid?"

"I'm not afraid, I'm being realistic!"

They all jumped as a cannonball shattered part of the roof several stories above them.

"Semantics!" Motherhips yelped.

"How far is it to the kitchen?"

Johanna started to panic, her hand tightening on her uncle's arm. "I—I don't know! There's a stone path, but that's all I remember! Please, please, let's go back to the tunnel! I can't bear this!"

"Yes, you can," King William said sternly. "You are the daughter of my brother, and my niece. We do not retreat from battle, Johanna." He looked her in the eyes. "You and Dr. House pulled me out of Hell. Did you run away then?"

"That was different—"

"Okay, family bonding moment over!" House barked. "Grab anything you can to shield yourself! Boards, shutters, saddles!" The wood was rotted everywhere they looked. Johanna pulled off a shutter that had once been green off a stable. Wilson jerked down the other shutter, then went for the stall door below. It came away easily, splitting in half in his hands. He lifted the remains of a feeding trough, old feed and insects falling on him.

"I found a saddle!" Motherhips crowed, lifting an old, moldy saddle from a pile of wreckage.

House surveyed them all. "If they shoot at us, it will be from above. Everyone got something they can hold over their heads? And weapons?"

Johanna had given her uncle one of the shutters. The rest held decayed wood, and Motherhips more or less rested the saddle on his head, muck running down his shoulders.

It also partly covered Burton, but not by much.

"You look ridiculous," Wilson said, handing him the large angled part of the feeding trough.

"What about you, House?" asked Johanna.

"Here," Wilson said, giving House several boards nailed together. "You can hold that with one hand."

"When I give the signal, we run like hell down the stone path toward—what does the kitchen look like?"

"It's a brick outbuilding," said Motherhips. "With two chimneys. Just past two topiary cherubs on either side of the path."

_Fucking cherubs. He would never escape them._

Burton was nearly unconscious. Blood flowed down his calf.

"Show time," House said, swinging open the door to the outside.

The battle sounds were shatteringly loud, shouts, cannons and rifle shot. House limped as fast as he could toward a red brick building in the distance. Wilson and Johanna flanked him, King William just behind, Motherhips and Burton last. None of the troops were stationed above the path—

But then someone saw them running along the path. Shots whistled past House's ear. At least one crunched into someone's shield, but no one cried out. A shot thumped next to him into the gray stone.

Wilson reached the structure before the others, and wrenched open the door. The rest cascaded into the building, dropping their shields as they ran in. Wilson slammed the door shut and locked it. The sound of battle was somewhat muted.

"They're going to come after us," Motherhips said, his voice shaking.

"They've got bigger fish to fry," House said. "It—"

He stopped. The kitchen was an enormous room, with three fireplaces and two big wooden trestle tables in the middle. The kitchen staff stared across the cavernous room. It was a _very_ large crowd. They stared at the intruders, expressions from fear to bafflement to readiness to fight.

"Don't shoot!" said the shortest of the men, a florid little elf with terrible acne.

"We're not going to shoot," said House. "We're not here to take over the culinary arts of Rutgers castle. I need honey_. Now._"

Several cooks with large knives stepped forward. "How do we know you won't try to kill us?"

"Oh, come on," Wilson said impatiently. "There six of us and...a _lot_ of you. Nobody's going to get hurt."

"They will if they don't get the damn honey," House snapped. "Can one of you louts move your ass?"

"Honey?" said a stout gray-haired woman, her tone bewildered. "For all of you?"

"No, one cup of honey."

"Enough of this," said Johanna. "Get him the honey at once. I am her royal highness Princess Johanna, and you will do as I command."

The onlookers stared at Johanna. In men's clothes, hair and face plastered with muck, she did not cut much of a regal figure. King William even less.

The stout woman stared at Johanna. "It—it is her Highness! It's Constance, your wet nurse!"

"Constance!" Johanna cried, and threw her arms around her wet nurse, not noticing that Constance flinched at how filthy Johanna was.

Like a clumsy Broadway chorus, every man and woman in the kitchen went down on their knees.

"Yes, yes, all very impressive, but I need honey now!" House interrupted. "And any clean cloth you have, if such a thing is possible."

Constance turned and said to a scullery maid, "Fetch the honey, Doris. Quickly."

"Constance—all of my subjects—it is an honor to introduce my uncle, His Majesty King William Richard Boadicea Melville Pont de Neuf of Princeton-on-Sea." Johanna smiled, bringing her uncle forward.

Gasps rippled through the room. Heads were lifted to stare at King William, then quickly lowered. Whispers ran through the crowd: "It is him!" "How do we know?" "It's the king, I'm certain!"

"I need two men to lift my patient onto this table," House commanded. "He's been wounded."

Two large cooks came forward and took Burton from Motherhips. Gently, they lifted the unconscious man up onto the trestle table.

"Clean cloths," House ordered. "A small carving knife, and a bottle of gin."

Everyone was busy staring at King William, who surveyed the room calmly. He had the air of a man who was perfectly comfortable with people kneeling before him.

House went to a kettle of water hung in one of the fireplaces and plunged his hands in. The amount of dirt that swirled was truly impressive. If he handled food at home with these hands, half the country would get giardia.

"Wilson, wash your hands and assist."

House was brought a pile of linen napkins and gin. After pouring the gin over his hands, he cleaned them with one. Wilson soaked a napkin with gin and wiped down Burton's wound. Burton moaned but did not wake. It was even redder and more open. House snatched up a small carving knife and after wiping it down, sliced the wound open further.

"Oh!" Burton cried, opening his eyes.

"Shut up, this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me." House moved the knife until it hit something hard. Burton screamed in pain.

"House, you're getting even more germs into that wound," Wilson said.

"Then it will turn _really_ cool colors before it kills him. I need sugar or olive tongs." House pulled out the knife and wiped it off, then Wilson poured more gin over his hands. Another cook handed Wilson a pair of three-inch long tongs. More gin, some of which Wilson let drip into the wound. Burton groaned, while Motherhips whispered endearments to him, holding his hand. It looked like Burton would break his lover's hand, he gripped it so hard.

House slipped the tongs into the wound in the direction the kitchen knife had gone. After probing a few seconds, he felt the round iron shot. Grasping it with the tongs, he slowly drew it out and dropped it on the table.

"Wilson, clean it up. Where's the damn honey?"

"Here, sir," said Doris, the scullery maid. She held a large bowl filled with golden-tint honey. It smelt of orange blossoms. House picked up the bowl and slowly poured the contents directly into the wound. Burton screamed again, and passed out.

"Thank God, he was making _way_ too much noise. When combined with the wound exudates, honey produces natural hydrogen peroxide. It also stimulates lymphocytic and phagocytic activity, which helps the body fight infection."

More honey was smeared on a napkin and a dressing improvised. House looked at the kitchen staff. "This dressing will need to be changed every two hours. He's feverish, so he'll need cold cloths on his forehead and plenty of potable water. You people up to that?"

"I'm up to it," said Motherhips. "I'm going to take care of him."

"But you can't. You have to come with us."

Motherhips drew himself up so that he was nearly eye to eye with House. "He's my husband. It's my choice, not yours. If Eldridge is going to die, I will be by his side."

There was a pounding on the kitchen door. "Open the door!"

"It's the soldiers," Johanna said.

"Oh, fuck." House froze.

One of the large male cooks grabbed his shoulder. "Into the cold room. Quickly!"

"What about my husband?" Motherhips cried out.

Two female servants grabbed a large linen sheet and draped it over Burton. Others hastened to weigh it down with picturesque bowls of fruit.

The group was hustled into the cold room. Like the rest of the vast kitchen, it was whitewashed. Animal carcasses hung from hooks in the ceiling. When the door was shut, House prevented it from closing all the way with the end of his cane. Other than the sliver of light, they were in darkness.

Muffled voices were heard, military tones and the accents of the servants. Protestations. It seemed to go on forever. _Jesus Christ painting murals_, House did not want to die in a goddamned cold room. There wasn't a lot of air, and it smelled of dead meat and brine. The alternative was to step out and get shot.

Eventually the voices died down. But it felt like hours before one of the cooks cracked open the door. "They're gone. We said you had run down the service tunnel. So they're expecting you there."

"Thank you—what's your name?" asked Johanna.

"Marmaduke." He started to kneel, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Of course it is. Is there any way you can get us back into the old stable?"

He thought for a moment, then brightened. "You can wear our coats. You come with us when we bring the food to the troops for their supper."

Reading about how much food an army ate was one thing. Seeing it was...staggering. Roast pigs, stews, every cut of beef imaginable (except for filet mignon, of course), gigantic straw baskets of hard bread, buckets of ale...House counted one hundred and ten workers, almost the entire kitchen staff. The baskets, buckets, kettles and other containers were huge.

Motherhips was adamant about not leaving Burton's side, and had refused to let anyone else dress the wound. He had learned about sanitation from House, demanding the cloths be boiled. House smiled to himself, putting one hand on a meat cart as they poured out. He wore a dirty white coat that stank of plucked chickens.

The soldiers above them were now guarding the food, not looking for intruders. As the procession turned, House signaled the others to peel away and walk calmly to the stable yard entrance. As he had hoped, none of the men carrying weapons noticed them.

Wilson sidled up to House as they strolled toward the stable yard. "What do you propose to do when we get inside?"

"I don't know."

"Well, at least we won't get shot at for a while," Wilson said in a resigned tone. "I wish Motherhips was still here."

"There isn't time to get your cock sucked, Wilson."

"You know what I mean!"

"Yes, and there still isn't time to get your cock sucked."

They picked their way back through the mucky stable yard. The sun was going down. Johanna led the way.

The small group reached the doors, where Storm and Smoke were still hitched to the hay wagon. House and Johanna unhitched the horses. There was water, and some moldy feed. Better than nothing.

"We must be very, very quiet," Johanna said.

"We're hunting wabbits," House couldn't help saying.

"We're hunting what?" She looked at him. "Oh, shut up, House."

She walked back into the darkness, again feeling along the walls. She found a catch, and the entrance door swung open inwards.

_Oh, God. More stairs._


	110. Chapter 110

"Hang on." House returned to the hay wagon, rummaging around until he found the apothecary case. He pulled open the little drawer containing the eth and stuffed them in his pockets, swallowing three for good measure.

"You don't think you can take some stairs by now?" Wilson asked. "Hasn't living here been one big physical therapy session?"

"I'm in better shape but my thigh muscle is still gone." House limped back to Johanna and King William. "Okay, lead the way."

"It's dark," she warned.

"No shit."

She slowly climbed the stairs, the others following. House felt his way along the wall with his free hand to get his bearings.

"This is the servants' level," she whispered when they came to the first landing.

House groaned. The eth was kicking in too slowly. "We need to get to the royal apartments," he said, grimacing. "It's the best vantage point to reconnoiter. No use busting into the War Room without some preparation."

"But that's almost all the way up." Johanna was a form in the darkness. "Can you manage it?"

"Of course I can," House snapped. "If I can't, you can carry me."

"This isn't the time for a lover's spat," said Wilson behind him.

"Do be quiet, Wilson," said Johanna.

"You tell him, woman."

"You be quiet too, House!"

Slowly, carefully, they climbed flight after flight of stairs. House remembered climbing up the inside of the Statue of Liberty when he was a boy. A lot easier when he had both legs at his disposal. His thigh spasmed; he ignored it as best he could. The barrels of their rifles intermittently scraped the wall.

The sounds of guns, muffled, came at intervals from outside. Occasionally on a landing, a glint of light could be discerned, presumably through a secret door. Otherwise, it was darkness. Eventually, House could hear the others gasping and panting from exertion, and he felt a sense of triumph. _See how you like climbing stairs, morons?_

"Here," Johanna whispered. King William, Wilson and House gathered around her. She shushed them, and opened the door with a hidden catch.

It was still dark. The last time House had crept around the hidden corridors he'd had a candle.

"Follow me. I can take us to my bedchamber."

"You want a foursome? A threesome's one thing, but with your uncle, that's kind of perverted—"

"House, you say one more word and I will push you down those stairs!" Johanna managed to keep her voice soft.

"Guys? Focus?" said Wilson.

They wandered through a maze of passages. If only Motherhips and Burton were here—they would know the layout.

"Here." Johanna stopped.

Johanna opened the door almost in slow-motion. Light floated into the dusty passage. "It's empty," Johanna mouthed, and opened the door.

House was dazed by the luxury of their surroundings. Months of inns, sleeping on the ground, taking baths where ten other people had taken baths in the same tub...

The bedroom was strikingly similar to the one at the summer palace: blue and gold, high-ceilinged and an enormous canopied bed, with its many pillows. The fireplace was unlit.

"My chamber!" Johanna exclaimed, clapping her hands with glee. "My beautiful, _beautiful_ bedchamber!" She pulled an embroidered pillow off the bed and hugged it. "Oh, how I've dreamt of this bed!"

"You and me both," said House, looking at King William. The King seemed completely stunned, as if he simply could not take in the room around them.

"Where are we?" he asked, starting to knead his hands.

"We're in your palace!" Johanna replied. "Your winter palace at Rutgers!"

"_My_ palace?"

King William's tone was baffled. House knew that William had lived in hellish conditions at Keddlestone, and then life on the road.

"Congratulations, you've won the palace behind Door Number Two!" House announced.

Wilson a-hemmed. "What House means to say is, you are the king, and this is your palace. What do you remember?"

"I remember...I remember so much." William's voice broke. He walked across the room and looked out the leaded glass window. "I spent my youth here, with my younger brother. We played ball in the Great Hall. Mother was most displeased." He smiled. "There were cherubs everywhere."

"That's enough reminiscing—"

"House, he needs this." Wilson put his hands on his hips. "He needs to recall memories of a happier life."

"Oh, and all of the young women who frolicked in my bed!" William sighed, turning his gaze to the ceiling. "So many of them..."

"Uncle William was quite the cavalier," Johanna said with a smile.

"Like uncle, like niece."

House looked around the bedroom. Oh, God, there were decorative oval panels around the room with pink-cheeked cherubs in them.

"_More_ fucking cherubs?"

The door to the room swung open, making them all jump. House drew his pistol.

The young, buxom woman at the door stared at the quartet, slowly taking them all in. House recognized her as Louise, Johanna's lady in waiting.

"Your Highness...is that you?"

"No," snapped Wilson. "That one."

Johanna stepped forward. "It's me, Louise."

Louise's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets at the sight of the Princess, hair hanging down her back, dressed in muddy men's clothing and heavy leather shoes. Nevertheless, Louise curtseyed. "Welcome back, your Highness. We all thought the rebels had killed you—" Her gaze fell on House. "Captain de la Fontaine! Her kidnapper!" She looked at Johanna. "Has he forced you back here for some dreadful scheme? Tell me and I'll alert the guards." She again looked at Wilson. "Is he an illegimate half-brother?"

The princess ignored the question. "Louise, this is my uncle, King William." She took the king by the elbow and moved him forward. "We rescued him from the madhouse."

The lady in waiting looked like she was going to have a stroke. "It can't be—he's mad—how do you know he is your uncle?"

"I know my own uncle, you silly goose! You still had your milk teeth when he was taken away."

"She's really easy," House muttered to Wilson.

Louise curtseyed all the way to the floor (House admired her agility), dropping her eyes. "Your Majesty..."

King William smiled. "You may stand, my child. And who are you?"

"I'm one of her highness's ladies in waiting. Since she's been gone, I have been an attendant to the Queen Mother."

"My mother?" exclaimed the king. "Is she here?"

"Yes, she's in one of the inner chambers to keep her safe."

"Take me to her—"

"Hang on, Willy, don't get yourself assassinated before you have to." House stepped between Louise and William, pointedly looking down at Louise's cleavage. "Get the Queen Mother right now. Don't tell her why or she'll blare it all over the place. Move it!"

"Yes, Captain! Oh, your Highness, I am so happy to see you!" Louise started to lean in to kiss her mistress's cheek. Seeing how grimy it was she pulled back, quickly exiting the bedchamber.

There was nothing to wash with in the bedchamber or the drawing room. Since the rooms had been unoccupied, there weren't even flowers in vases.

"I am sorry we can not go to my bathing closet, but it would entail stepping out into the corridor." Johanna wiped her face with an edge of the bedspread. King William could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of seeing his mother. Wilson and House, exhausted, sprawled in blue and gold chairs.

The drawing room door swung open, and there was Bertha, the Queen Mother. In a wheelchair pushed by Gunther.

_In a wheelchair._

House was furious. Oblivious to the hugs and crying between King William and his mother, he shouted, "What the hell is wrong with you? I taught you all of those leg exercises, but you're too damn lazy to get out of that wheelchair?"

Wilson pulled him back. "House, let them enjoy the moment. I know that a happy family reunion is something you can't imagine."

Bertha was, as before, in a long black dress and shawl. It was streaked with dirt when she and her son broke apart, but she didn't care. Almost as an afterthought, she hugged her niece. House couldn't take his eyes off the wheelchair, and her thick swollen ankles.

"Captain de la Fontaine!" she cried. "You're still alive!"

"And you won't be if you don't get out of that chair," House snapped. "My God, you're fatter than the last time I saw you."

"House..." muttered Wilson.

Bertha looked at Wilson. "My goodness," she said after a minute. "Are you one of my son's illegitimate children?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "No, your Highness, I just _happen_ to bear a resemblance to your niece." He looked at House. "I'm beginning to wish that cosmetic surgery existed here."

"Yeah, Johanna could get breast implants. Then people could tell you apart."

"House freed me from Keddlestone, mother. He and Dr. Wilson took care of me when I was ill. The man who looks like Johanna, that's Dr. Wilson."

"Okay, okay, everybody, warm and fuzzy time over! We have to talk about what waits for us out there."

"Well, I never—" Bertha's eyebrows rose.

"Here are your options: on the throne or dead. No middle ground. Could you get rid of Gunther? All these months later and he's still giving me the fish-eye."


	111. Chapter 111

It proved tougher than expected to convince Bertha that Johanna didn't have time to take a bath. The Queen Mother insisted her granddaughter at least wipe her face with a damp cloth, and then was appalled that her skin was no longer pale. "Your beautiful complexion! How could you?"

"Grandmother, it's a long story." Johanna ran an affectionate hand down the side of Bertha's face.

Bertha moaned. "Your fingernails...your hands...they look like a scullery maid's."

Meanwhile, William wiped the mud from his face and beard.

"We have to move it," said House.

"You all look like ragamuffins," she huffed.

Gunther wheeled her out into the corridor. The others followed. It was almost empty. When any servants looked at House and his group, she ordered "avert your eyes!" and they did. _Good to be the Queen Mother_.

"Now you children be quiet and let me handle this," Bertha said. They walked through what seemed like miles of marbled corridor, servants bowing their heads as ordered. It was completely surreal. The group tracked muddy footprints on the floor, but because the Queen Mother was leading them, all of the footmen behaved as if nothing was out of order. In fact, another footman ran over and helped Gunther carry the Queen Mother, in her wheelchair down, the marble stairs. House's leg was killing him; he wished he could ride in her lap.

On the ground floor, after walking by several huge, empty rooms, Gunther halted her wheelchair at elaborately carved wooden doors. Over the door, carved and gilded, was the coat of arms House had first seen on the palace stationery: two large fish, intertwined.

"The Throne Room," Bertha said quietly. "Wait here." House motioned for them all to press against the wall, so as not to be seen when the door opened. When a footman opened it, House saw several men in royal finery and a line of guards, dressed in those silly white uniforms with red plumed helmets. _Shit._ Mocking them wouldn't do any good, they all had guns.

Bertha was wheeled in, the door shut. House leaned against it. There was a long pause—a very long pause. Then men's voices, Bertha's.

"I command these guards to leave," Bertha said loudly. "I wish to discuss a highly private matter with you, and I refuse to do so in front of common soldiers."

More men's voices, then House heard the guards leaving...in the opposite direction, thank God.

"Everyone ready? Got your weapons?" House whispered. Wilson, Johanna and the King nodded. House had two pistols. If only he had a cannon. It would make everything so much faster. His leg was spasming again. _Double shit._

"We have guests, Louis," Bertha said, again loudly. "Gunther, show them in."

The door was swung wide. House looked at Bertha, who nodded. The throne room was decorated almost entirely in red, the throne under a heavy canopy, on red, embroidered with gold cherubs. Along one wall were swords and shields. Heavy bronze candleholders were set in niches around the chamber.

The three men in the throne room were the Prince Regent, John, and Semple.

It was debatable which group was more shocked. House stared at Semple.

"You son of a bitch," he said.

Ignoring him, Semple stepped to one side and opened his arms wide. "Johanna! My darling, they've brought you back to me!" He shot a glance at King William.

Johanna stayed where she was. "What are you doing here? You should be out there, with your men."

"They're not my men any more," Semple said, smiling. "I can scarcely trust what has happened. The Prince Regent and I were discussing a peaceful end to the rebellion. You hear that, Johanna? And now that you're here, and we're back together, we can be married."

"Bullshit you're negotiating a peace agreement, Blondie," said House. "You want all of the opposition blown up and out of the way. Semple, you are a piece of work. Then you marry Johanna and she goes the way of her parents, right? Isn't that right, Louis? I'll bet you're still handy with arsenic."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut through with a Number 3 scalpel.

"House?" said Wilson. "Perhaps we should leave and let them work out their differences themselves."

"Are you _high_?"

"Now, now," Bertha said. "I'm sure this can be discussed gracefully." She looked up at the Prince Regent. "Here is your brother-in-law, my son, King William." She stretched out a fat hand for William to take. William moved next to her, standing tall and proud.

"Greetings, Louis," said William.

Louis cocked his head to one side, and smiled. "Greetings, William. It is good to see you again." Of course he knew from Semple that the King was alive.

"It is a pleasure to set eyes on you again, Louis. I trust you will step down from the throne now and I shall resume my royal duty as King."

"To my great sorrow, that can not be allowed to happen," Louis said sadly. "You are quite mad. My court physicians will attest to that."

"They haven't even seen him!" said Wilson.

Louis stared. "Is this one of your illegitimate children, William?"

"No," said Wilson and Johanna in unison, then rolled their eyes at each other.

"You traitor." Johanna stepped forward until she was nose to nose with Semple. "I believed you were doing the right thing. I believed you loved me. I thought we both believed in the cause. Semple, you are a maggot!" She slapped him hard across the face.

"You _sow_!" Semple spat. John grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms.

"Semple, I command you to let go of my granddaughter at once!" said the Queen Mother.

"Shut up, old woman," said John.

"How dare you—" William started forward.

"Don't," House whispered. "They're trying to provoke you, so they can say you're still mad and they had to kill you because you attacked them. Me, on the other hand—"

"Johanna, DUCK!"

House grabbed a bronze candlestick and slammed it into John's windpipe as Johanna bent and pulled him forward. John collapsed to the floor, gurgling and clutching at his neck. House whirled around to see Semple lifting his pistol, and House collided with Wilson, causing House's bad leg to buckle.

Semple's gun rang out, and for a moment everything was still. House looked up.

Wilson had been shot.

Blood was spreading across his coat on the right side. He stared at House, no expression on his face, and then he dropped to his knees and fell backwards.

"Wilson!" House scrambled over to his friend and tore open the jacket. Wilson's eyes were wide open, staring at House, but still with no expression.

"House—what—"

House was suffocating. "No, no, no, Wilson, you've been shot, lie still, dammit...exit wound three to four inches below entry wound...patient shows no signs of hemorrhaging...less blood from entry wound...shot avoided pectoralis major, heart...patient is suffering from pneumothorax..." House's fingers skittered over his friend's chest, listening to Wilson wheeze. Why in fuck did they have to here, with no sterile dressings, no sterile tubing, no—

He lifted Wilson up and held him, listening to him breathe. "It'll be okay, Wilson, it'll be okay, I promise, Jesus, Wilson, you would get yourself shot."

House noted that the throne room was growing brighter, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Wilson's face.

"What IS that?" Bertha screamed.

Wilson rolled off of House onto the floor, face down. He tried to lift himself up, but fell back.

House looked up. The light was so bright he had to squint. One wall across the throne room had dissolved, showing...

The Princeton-Plainsboro emergency room.

_But the puzzle wasn't solved._

"Wilson, it's the hospital. It's the ER, you have to go." House shielded his eyes from the fluorescent glare.

"No, House, no, I won't," Wilson gasped. Again he tried to get up, leaving a large smear of blood on the red and gold carpet.

"You have to—"

"I want to die here with you, House—" Wilson coughed, a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. "I can't leave you. I'd rather die. I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!"

The doctors and nurses stared at House and Wilson.

"What the hell is that?" one of the doctors exclaimed. "Aliens?"

House felt Wilson shift, and suddenly Wilson screamed, a shrill cry of pain and terror.

Oh God...Wilson was being pulled across the floor toward the emergency room! Not by doctors, but by some invisible force.

_He can't leave but if he can he'll live and I can leave and we'll go back to New Jersey and everything will be normal but omigod Johanna I want to stay here no no no_

"House," Wilson wheezed, "Help me!"

House grabbed Wilson's waist, but it only slowed the slide across the floor.

"House, grab his leg!" It was Johanna's voice. "Grab his LEG!"

House grabbed Wilson's right leg. Johanna was holding on to the left one, her face determined.

"You—are—not—leaving," she panted at Wilson.

"NURSE, I NEED HELP!" House screamed. "STERILE DRESSINGS, ANY ANTIBIOTICS, ANYTHING!" They still stared.

"DO IT NOW, GODDAMNIT!" House yelled at the one nurse he recognized. "STAFFORD, GET THOSE DRESSINGS!"

House and Johanna wrestled against the force, pulling Wilson back. Wilson was barely conscious, but still fought to stay where he was.

"Nurse...nurse...do what he says!" Wilson moaned. His head was sliding into the emergency room...his shoulders...he was pawing at the floor, nails skidding on the linoleum...

"PULL!" Johanna shrieked at House. "PULL! YOU CAN'T LOSE HIM! **PULL**!"

They were dragging him back! House feared Wilson might be pulled apart, but the light was less blinding.

"SUPPLIES, DAMMIT!" House shouted. "THROW THEM HERE!"

Letting go of Wilson's leg, House climbed over Wilson's body and snatched at the dressings, throwing them behind him into the throne room. Spotting an IV stand a few inches within reach, he yanked the pole with his right hand and sent it clattering backwards. Now he could feel the pull...he had to climb back over Wilson..._oh god he could be crushing Wilson's lungs...Wilson could be dead by now...no..._

_._

"Come on!" Johanna clawed at both of them, grabbing House's bad leg and Wilson's belt, her feet crushing into the carpet pile. House nearly screamed from the pain, but managed to jump off Wilson, rolling onto the floor, seizing Wilson's arm and pulling as the light grew dimmer...

The screen closed; the emergency room was gone.


	112. Chapter 112

House turned Wilson over, lying him flat on the throne room floor. Wilson's eyes were glazed. "Stay with me, Wilson," House murmured. He tore the rest of the jacket and shirt from Wilson's torso, exposing the small ragged wound. Bloody bubbles came out of it. "Johanna, bring me that IV pole—the long metal thing!" He placed Wilson's hand on his wound to stop the air flow somewhat. There was a sucking sound from the injury as Wilson struggled to breathe.

There was nothing else in the world but this.

Johanna dragged over the IV stand, tubing and bags handing from it. It banged, thumped and clattered across the carpet, the bags sloshing. The IV pole had plastic tubing, extension sets, a kangaroo pouch of IV saline solution, with a catheter, and then he saw the blood collection device, a large bullet of plastic with a 21 gauge needle, 1 and 1/4 inches. It had probably only just been hooked up.

"Still with us, Wilson?" House said loudly.

"Yes." It came out as a whisper. Wilson's eyes were half-shut.

"No, no, no," House said. "Wilson, wake up! Wake up, dammit!"

Wilson's eyes opened. They were unfocused, but open. His skin was going pale, his lips blue.

"Come on, Wilson, we didn't go through all of that shit for you to die on me," House babbled. "Stay with me, okay? Stay with me. Keep looking at my face. Are you with me?" Wilson's eyes shut again, his head lolling to one side.

House snatched at the needle, pulling the IV pole. Aiming for Wilson's right pleural space, he plunged it in, hard.

Wilson took in a huge, gasping breath, eyes fluttering open.

Johanna dropped down on her knees next to House. "What can I do?"

"Gimme that bag with the tube on it. The big one."

House tore open the top of the kangaroo pouch with his teeth, letting saline dump over his own hands and Wilson's chest. He inserted the catheter into the wound, causing Wilson to moan. Good. Moaning was good. Meant there was still some Wilson in Wilson.

"What else did they throw in here? Anything, Johanna, look for anything!"

"This long thing that has the bags and tubes, a bottle of pills, these large things wrapped in paper—"

"Dressings. Open the paper and give 'em to me one at a time."

Johanna handed him a large adhesive dressing. He tore it in half and placed it around the catheter, then did the same thing with another and another.

"We're gonna move you, Wilson, don't be a girl and scream on us."

"Johanna, hold him up sideways."

Johanna moved Wilson so that he lay on his left side. The back of his shirt was soaked with blood.

"Oh, shit, the exit wound's bigger. Gimme more of the dressings."

"There's only one left."

"I said GIMME!" House ripped the cover open, smoothing it over the wound. It barely covered the hole. "Shit. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, but I don't know what it is," said Johanna. She held forward a small box of Band-Aids.

"Cheapskates." House rapidly peeled each Band-Aid, placing them in a tight circle around the dressing. They'd peel off in no time, but right now that didn't matter. House rolled him onto his back again. Wilson was barely conscious, but breathing.

"What does the label on the pill bottle say?"

"It says a—as- asif—"

"As _if._" House snatched the bottle out of her hand. "Azithromycin, 250 milligrams, good. We'll shove one down his throat when he's conscious."

"House..." Johanna patted his shoulder.

House shook out of his trance and turned back to look at the others.

Prince Louis, Semple and the Queen Mother stared at the wall behind him. John lay on the floor, still trying to catch his breath.

"What magic was that?" said Prince Louis.

"Stay back!" House barked. "Or I'll conjure it again! So back off so I can take care of my patient!" He checked Wilson's pulse. It was still a bit weak, but getting better.

"Yes, beware the wrath of House!" said Johanna.

House looked at her. "Are you kidding me?" She gave him a _what else could I say?_ shrug. There was some blood around the dressings, but not too much. Wilson was semi-conscious.

"I am the master of particle physics," House continued, drawing his pistol. "Don't make me angry."

Prince Louis suddenly shoved Gunther out of the way, grabbing the back of the Queen Mother's wheelchair and using her as a human shield.

"Louis, what are you doing?" Bertha cried in disbelief.

"What I have to," he said. "KILL HIM!" he ordered Semple.

"Thank you, your Highness," Semple said, pulling out a pistol in each hand.

House leapt away on all fours and rolled across the room away from Wilson. Scrambling, he hid behind one the chairs in the two rows along the throne room as Semple's shot buried itself in the floor next to him. House fired wildly, not knowing exactly where Semple was. He fired with his second pistol as Semple ducked down behind the opposite row of chairs. House tore open a bag of shot with his teeth, tamped down the gunpowder and spat the shot into it and took a shot from behind the chair. Reload, shoot, reload, shoot, ignore the shot screaming by his head or thumping into the seat cushions. House forced himself to crawl/run along the chairs, ignoring his pain. Better to be alive and in pain than the alternative.

"House!" Johanna threw first one pistol, then another, at House. They skidded across the carpet behind the chairs with surprising accuracy. He snatched them up, ducking his head as Semple fired. Semple could reload much faster than House could.

House kicked a chair at Semple, then leapt to his feet and ran around the side of the throne, where the heavy red canopy provided a shield of sorts. Across the room, he saw that Gunther had thrown himself over King William to protect him. Who knew the old coot had it in him?

The opposite door burst open, guards running into the room. Their rifles were drawn

Prince Louis roared, "Kill them! Kill these traitors now!"

"That is my SON," Bertha wailed. "That is King William! Your rightful king! HE IS MY SON! And that is my granddaughter, the Princess Johanna_! I order you to stand down!" _

Confused, the guards looked around the room, then at the Queen Mother. "I am her Majesty The Queen Mother, and if I order you to stand down, lower your weapons!"

Prince Louis was dumbstruck.

"You think I am going to let you kill my son, you disgusting slug?"

King William started to sit up, but Gunther pushed him back down.

"I am your king!" William shouted.

It gave House the moments he needed to reload. He fired again at Semple, backing around the canopy curtains behind the throne. The roar of the pistol and the smell of gunpower was heightened by the small fabric filled space.

Semple ducked and weaved behind the chairs, then behind a tall marble pillar that displayed a bust of the Prince Regent. House aimed and shot, but only winged the pillar.

Semple shot at House from behind the pillar, then ducked back. House was choking on the taste of the gunpowder as he reloaded, keeping an eye out for his opponent. That was when he saw an opening in the curtains behind the throne. He slid all the way down behind the throne until he was looking through the legs.

"Come and get me, Blond Beauty!"

"You can't hide from me, cripple!" Semple yelled from behind the pillar.

"I'm doing a great job so far!"

Semple burst out from the pillar, pistols in either hand. Through the slit in the curtains, House took aim at Semple's head and fired. The right side of Semple's head exploded as the shot sheared through it, the bloody hunk of blond hair flying backwards and landing on the carpet, followed by Semple's body.

John stared in amazement, then turned and shot Gunther as he lay atop King William. Gunther rolled off, moaning. John aimed at King William.

"FIRE!" Bertha yelled.

The guards opened fire on John. He was flattened against the wall by the bullets' impact, arms flailing uselessly, until he slid to the ground.

House emerged from behind the throne, and the guards swung their rifles toward him.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!"

House limped cautiously across the room, holding his hands up.

"What—what—?" King William struggled from under Gunther's body.

"You're wearing a corpse."

Prince Louis was backing away from the guards, keeping Bertha and her wheelchair between them. _Serves the old broad right for never doing her leg exercises._

Suddenly, Prince Louis's eyes grew wide. Which made sense, because Johanna had stabbed him in the back with a large kitchen carving knife.

"_This_—" she said, twisting the knife, "is for my father. And _this_—" she thrust the knife through his body so that the bloody end pushed out the front, "is for my mother."

Prince Louis gurgled, jerked where the knife was lodged, while Johanna held on firmly. Blood ran out of his mouth, he struggled to breathe. Johanna yanked the knife out of his body, and he fell to the ground, gasping, blood pooling under his head. And then he was dead.

Bertha looked over the side of her wheelchair down at her dead nephew.

"Well," she said as if it had been an argument at a tea party, "Thank goodness _that'_s over."

"Couldn't agree more," said House, gimping over to Wilson, stomach knotting with dread.

Wilson looked up blearily. "Did I miss anything?"


	113. Chapter 113

House watched as Wilson stirred and opened his eyes half-way.

"House?"

"Don't talk, Wilson. You're in bed in a _really_ high class bed and breakfast. A lady in waiting gave you a sponge bath. So don't be surprised if you can't smell your own stink. Even though you were unconscious, you got an erection while Louise was washing your privates. Typical."

The sounds of battle were continuing outside. "But what—what about—"

"The bad guys are dead. From what I gathered before we carried you out, there's going to be a lot of activity to let everyone know that Louis is deceased."

House looked up as a familiar gentleman entered the bedchamber.

"Gerhardt!"

"Good evening, Captain de la Fontaine." Gerhardt bowed. "I am so happy to see that you are alive."

"Gerhardt, this is my friend, Dr.—Dr. Wilson." House glanced at Wilson. "Wilson, this is my bff, Gerhardt. He was in charge of peeling me in and out of that goddamned uniform. And helping me sneak into Johanna's room. And helping me remember my name. Gerhardt, this idiot got himself shot. He has wounds on both his chest and his back from the shot going through."

"Oh, my heavens!"

"Get one of the physicians to keep an eye on Dr. Wilson, and help me change his bandages."

"Very well, Captain, with all due speed." Gerhardt turned and was about to dodder out the door when House called him back.

"Do you know what they're doing in the throne room?"

"No, Captain. I find during this time it is best not to be inquisitive. I shall return with the bandages."

As the door shut behind Gerhardt, Wilson caught sight of the wheelchair near the bed. "Is that the Queen Mother's?"

_God, Wilson could be thicker than a bag of bricks_. "No, it belongs to Snow White. Broke her leg running away from the Evil Queen. Was she pissed when I took it away from her."

"Snow White lives here?" Wilson's lazy eye was drifting inward, making him look even more out of it.

"No, stupid, it's the Queen Mother's wheelchair. We stuck her on the throne so we could get you out of there and up to the second floor." House grinned. "I wish you'd been awake to see it. It's not my fault she's still in the damn wheelchair. I _told_ Bertha to do her leg exercises!"

"What?"

"Forget it."

They both started as a cannon boomed uncomfortably close.

"I wish they'd get this fucking battle over with so we can get some peace. Ha! See what I did there?"

"No."

House moved the covers. "Can you sit up?"

With a grunt of pain, Wilson pulled himself into a sitting position. House inspected the bandages. There was a tiny amount of blood on the back bandage, but not enough to worry about. He would get a better look at it when the bandages were changed. There was no blood on the front that he could see, and Wilson's breathing was regular.

"Hang on, time for your medicine." House poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, and shook out an azthromycin from the bottle, which he expertly broke in half. "Can't have you taking a full dose—after your time here, your body would go into shock from all of the crap you've gotten your system accustomed to." He also gave Wilson two eth tablets.

"House—when I was dying—" Wilson let House ease him back down on the bed. "We could have gone back home. But we didn't."

"Blame my penis. Or better yet, blame Johanna, because she's the reason my penis is still here."

"I didn't want to go home without you. I'm not even sure I wanted to go home. But maybe when we're about to die—that's what will happen. We'll go back to New Jersey."

"Lousy alternative to Hell, if you ask me. Sorry, Wilson, but if you're hoping for a suicide pact, not happening."

"No, I'm trying to make sense of it—"

"Don't bother. I gave up trying months ago. Be happy! You'll have regular baths again, decent food, and Johanna's ladies-in-waiting fluttering around you like horny butterflies. Those were my instructions."

Wilson gave a weak smile. "Everyone here is horny, have you noticed that? Maybe it's something in the water."

"Don't think about what's in the water. And don't be freaked if one of the ladies looks just like Gerhardt in a dress."

"Maybe she's Gerhardt's illegitimate sister." Wilson sighed. "Everybody's gonna think that about me, aren't they, House?"

"Worse things than being a king's bastard. I can only imagine the perks."

Johanna flew in, banging the door behind her. Her brown eyes were alight. "House, what's happening in the throne room—it is so wonderful! The men are taking down the Prince Regent's personal flag that flies next to the Royal Standard. They will replace it with my uncle's, once they can find it. It _has_ been a long time, you know." She was practically jumping and down with excitement. long straggly hair slapping around her shoulders. "When that has been accomplished, the trumpeters will blow, the palace bells rung, best of all, the Prince Regent's body will be hung from the window by his ankles." She paused. "It's an old custom. So as to not start rumors that he might still be alive."

"Nothing like a rotting upside down corpse to squelch gossip."

"How are you, Wilson?"

"Fine if I don't move, sneeze or take a deep breath. You'll forgive me if I pass out at any moment, won't you? Between the blood loss and the physical shock, I'm not at my best."

"Of course."

"House, make her promise that she won't hang me upside down from the window."

"Don't worry, Wilson, it's not worth the trouble," said Johanna. "Nobody knows who you are."

Gerhardt returned, carrying a stack of cloth bandages, accompanied by a middle-aged, bald man wearing wire round-rimmed glasses. His white shirt was splotched with blood and gunpowder.

"Allow me to present myself. I am Dr. Marmaduke Sucer Lapins. This man is the patient?"

"No, I'm the patient, but I'm letting Dr. Wilson use the bed. Because that's the kind of guy I am."

Dr. Sucer Lapins gave Gerhardt a raised-eyebrow look, which was returned with a apologetic shrug. The doctor was about to touch Wilson's chest bandage.

"_Hold it!_ You don't go near him until you've washed your hands."

"Why on earth should I wash my hands?"

"Gerhardt, get him out of here." House leaned back in his chair.

Despite his protests, the doctor was shown the door.

House settled back in his armchair. "I'll be taking my meals here, Gerhardt. Is there a close stool nearby?"

"I will have one brought to you at once. But Dr. Wilson...?"

"A large metal bowl, some towels and a bucket will be fine. Scram."

"As you wish, Captain. And it is good to see you again."

"Likewise, you old coot."

"What's a close stool?" Wilson croaked.

"A toilet with a velvet seat—too bad it went out of style."

Johanna dragged an ornate white and gold wooden chair over next to House.

"I'm...going to take a nap," said Wilson.

"Good, the eth's kicking in."

Wilson was almost instantly asleep.

"I do wish we didn't bear such a strong resemblance to each other," she said, taking House's hand.

"Too late." With a quick look at Wilson to make sure he was truly out, House leaned forward and kissed Johanna. She puckered her lips slightly, a parody of a kiss, and pecked him on the mouth. She wanted to be cute. _Too late!_

House grabbed her shoulders and kissed her, hard. Oh, how he had missed the feeling of her lips. Soft and cushiony and perfect. He slowly kissed down the side of her face and throat until it met her shirt collar. Johanna put her hands around his wrists, leaning back into his grip, and let slip a tiny little moan. She glanced at Wilson, then turned her attention back to House. She pulled forward and rubbed her face against his in that odd catlike way she had, and flicked her tongue over his left earlobe and lightly bit it. He was getting very hot very fast.

She gave him a sly smile and let go of his wrists, sliding her hands along the tops of his thighs, taking care not to touch his scar. Sitting in their chairs, opposite each other, they kissed awkwardly. Because they were both sitting down, House couldn't get hold of Johanna's body. He didn't want to wake Wilson and possibly traumatize him. Johanna put her mouth on his, her tongue softly slipping into House's mouth and tickling his teeth. He responded by sucking on it, but kissing wasn't enough, somehow he wanted all of him inside her, all of him, not just his cock. He wanted to crawl into her. The feeling that she belonged to him returned fivefold as he continued to kiss her. He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her face toward him, while she continued to slide her hands back and forth on his thighs. Their heads twisted and turned as they made love to each other with their mouths.

House stopped, and rested his forehead against Johanna's.

"Oh, god, Johanna, I love you," he whispered.

"I know. It's about damn time you said it," she whispered back.

"I'm awake, you two," said Wilson.

Before House could respond, another cannon blast shook the windows. Then they heard the most beautiful sounds in the world:

Loud church bells, and trumpets, clanging, banging and blaring. The sound went on and on. For House, it could go on forever, or at least as long as the trumpets stayed in tune.


	114. Chapter 114

"I'm not going."

"_House_!"

"Forget it. If I could skip medical conferences, I can skip a coronation."

"Captain, if you would only put on your uniform—"

"That makes even less appealing. Get lost, Gerhardt."

Gerhardt turned to Wilson. "He will not be swayed. What should I do?"

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes. "Give up."

House, wearing a silk maroon robe and nothing else, glared at the white breeches and red jacket. He sat next to the bed in a large plush armchair. With a look at Wilson, he swung his legs up and put his feet directly on the white breeches. "The answer is no." He surveyed his friend. "God, even here you're dressed in 'quiet good taste'. I'm gonna vomit."

Wilson's clothes were conservative—amazing that he could find the exact equivalent of what he had worn back in New Jersey. All of the male courtiers had to wear silk three piece court suits: coasts, vest and breeches. Most were pink, yellow, other bright colors. But Wilson's outfit was subdued brown with tone on tone embroidery. His arm was in a sling, so one sleeve hung empty. His brown hair had been washed, cut, and he wore a fashionable ponytail.

"You want to look pretty."

"And why not?" Wilson shot his ruffled cuffs. "I've met all of Johanna's ladies in waiting: Louise, Marie, Ethel, Regina, Eliza and Camille. You're right, she looks exactly like Gerhardt. I'll have all of the women flinging themselves at me. And after everybody gets drunk enough, some of the men." Wilson let out a self-satisfied breath. "Oh-_hoh_, this sling will _totally _reel in the ladies. Your limp must have gone over big time when you got here."

"Yeah, fake war hero is catnip to the females."

"Louise won't know what hit her."

"Although you could go with Gerhardt's twin, and we could have the world's strangest double wedding."

Wilson's eyes widened. "Is lifelong bachelor Gregory House considering _marriage_? We don't want the sky to start raining toads."

"Lifelong bachelor intends to _stay_ lifelong bachelor. Johanna is going to be my lovely unwedded—uh—not-wife." House smiled at Wilson's astonishment.

"Look, Wilson, I'm fine with living in sin, and so is she. Being a commoner, great excuse. " He paused. "How are Motherhips and Burton doing?"

"Johanna won't be the tallest woman at the coronation. Motherhips is ecstatic that they're guests and not servants. After this is over, _they_ are going to get married. Sure I can't convince you to put that thing on and come downstairs?"

"Wilson, everyone will be staring at the 'man who abducted the princess but brought back the princess and the king!'. I'll pass."

"House—"

"I'm busy." House picked up the sketchpad he had been scribbling on, and pointedly ignored Wilson until the latter left.

He had guessed right. Johanna couldn't possibly get away from the ceremonies to come up and rag on him about attending. He had most of the day and evening to himself, listening to the ceremony and choir singing. Singing, then long breaks, presumably while William was anointed, praised, religious bullshit read, more singing, all of the blah blah blah...

House was pleasantly stoned on eth and lay on the bed, scribbling away, pausing only to refill his fountain pen.

Cheers, bells ringing, general pandemonium. Must mean it was all over but the shouting. He decided to summon Gerhardt to order some supper.

The door burst open, Motherhips and Burton practically bouncing up and down.

"House! House! You missed the most _beautiful_ coronation!" Motherhips cried. "And look at my gown! Made for me by the royal seamstresses!" It was bright yellow with spangly stuff on it and ruffles everywhere possible.

"You never looked lovelier."

"We sat in the _front_ with the rest of the court! Our old colleagues—" Motherhips laughed. "The looks on their faces."

Burton, limping slightly, was in full court dress: a powder blue silk suit, white breeches, and new leather shoes.

"Eldridge, you're getting around. Unlike me, you will stop limping. If I hadn't been there, you wouldn't have a leg."

Wilson came in after them. "House, it was great! You should have seen William, he really looked like a king!"

"That shouldn't be hard. He _is_ a king. How did Johanna hold up?"

"Good. She was proud of her uncle. Kept looking around for you."

"Could you see her boobs?"

Wilson rolled his eyes again. "I didn't look at her boobs. But Louise—my God!"

"Be careful, your heterosexuality is showing."

There was an undeniably smug look on Wilson's face. "Getting laid should _not_ be a problem." Wilson was doing those tiny exhalations after each sentence, little _fffts_ of self-satisfaction that drove House crazy. "You'll be happy to know there is talk of yours truly being knighted." He was definitely strutting. "As well I should be. If it wasn't for me, with a little help from you, King William would not be alive and on the throne. _And_ I'm getting knighted without being named Marmaduke, Marmaduke."

"My name isn't Marmaduke."

"_They_ think it is."

"Bite me."

"Aren't you coming down for the feast?" asked Burton.

"No."

"I told you," Wilson said.

Motherhips turned to him. "I want both of you gentlemen out of here. Right this minute! OUT! And close the door!"

Baffled, Wilson and Burton hesitated, then made for the door. Motherhips turned, hands on his hips.

"House, you are going to STOP being a mewling child, you will dress in your uniform and accompany me downstairs." His glare was ferocious. "It doesn't matter who you shot in the head, I will take measures if you don't do as I say!"

Jesus, Motherhips was something when he was pissed. "No."

Motherhips quickly undid the robe sash and pulled the robe off of House so fast House was barely aware it happened until he lay, flipped over, naked on the bed.

"You're not going to—"

"Heavens, _no_!" Motherhips tossed the robe on a nearby chair and picked up the breeches. "I shall dress you. Believe me, I can do it faster. I won't have you upsetting her Royal Highness on the most important night of her life, House. I simply won't have it."

"Good evening, Captain de la Fontaine," a footman said upon his entrance to the Public Dining Room. The vast chamber was filled. At least two hundred courtiers were seated at the long heavy oak tables, a servant standing behind each of them. Three hundred more servants were lined up along the walls. Despite the forty-foot carved ceiling, the air felt close and hot. Tapestries and huge portrait paintings hung on the white walls. There was a giant fireplace with an equally giant stone mantelpiece.

House snapped, "If you announce me, I will punch you in the face."

The footman stepped backwards. "Yes, Captain!"

An elaborate silver-tipped evening cane had been provided. House had debated whether or not to use the battered cane that had seen him through so much. But shit, if he had to go through with the feast, he wanted to look pretty. Motherhips was on his other arm.

House refused to come downstairs until he'd swallowed three more eth tablets. The only way he could get through this was to be as high as a kite. The room was swaying gently, and House didn't hate the assembled courtiers nearly as much as if he'd been sober.

The table at the end, facing out toward the rest of the room, was on a dais. It would be. King William, still dressed in his red velvet fur-trimmed coronation cape, was talking to the blonde to his right. House recognized her—

It was the Duchess of Outer Flummox. He'd met her at a ball, she and Johanna had a catfight over him. _Boy_, that was a long time ago. He smiled at the memory. The Duchess's hair was still piled high. She was dressed in black. Widow's weeds. Bitch sure wasn't mournful. She giggled at every word the king said, giving him coquettish looks and touching his hand. _OH _yeah, she was going to land him if she had to suck his dick under the table.

"Motherhips, is that the Duchess?"

"Yes," said Motherhips with slight distaste. "Her husband died of a pox he contracted from one of their servants."

"I don't care. Is she fertile?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can she have kids?"

"No woman can give birth to goats, House."

"Children!"

"Oh, yes. She has three already, all boys."

"Make sure the king marries her." He patted Motherhips's hand on his arm, looking for Johanna.

She sat to the king's left, smiling and chatting with her dinner companions. She was striking in a heavy silk off-white dress, heavily embroidered, with a wide lace-trimmed scoop neckline. The elbow length sleeves were lace-trimmed. Johanna had refused to cut her hair, the first female in the royal family to do so. It was up in brown coils, decorated with diamonds. House's heart beat faster as he gimped toward the table, a little wobbly from being so high. It was a pleasant shock when she looked up and saw him.

"House!" She looked at the servant behind her. "Get another chair. Everyone, make room, move over."

Keenly aware of being the cynosure of all eyes, House made his way around the dining room. A servant helped him up the stairs to the dais. He dropped into the tapestry-backed chair beside Johanna. "Nice turnout. How many at gunpoint?"

"You're intoxicated on eth, aren't you?"

He gave her a woozy smile. "Think of it as anti-nausea medicine. You're cute when you disapprove."

"Shut up, House." She reached under the table and took his hand, her fingers gloved. "You would have _hated_ the coronation."

"Monarchy is an artificial construction, Johanna. It's whoever has the most money and the most weapons."

"That would be us," Johanna replied drily.

A servant placed a large plate of whiting in anchovy sauce before House. "What have you got to drink in this place?"

"Wine or mead, sir."

"Gimme one of each. Hey!" he yelled at the man two seats down. "Toss me one of those meat pasties!" House caught it neatly and turned to Johanna with a grin. "You look hot."

"Thank you." She tried to frown, but gave up. "You look quite the dashing cavalier."

"I should, these breeches are going to kill my sperm count."

"But why isn't your hair tied back? It looks so unkempt."

House had left his hair long, to his shoulders, and refused to wear a ponytail. He wanted to look sloppy. Sloppy felt right.

"I like it this way. Better chance of getting it in my soup."

To House's mild surprise, Semple's compatriots Baron Marcus Alan, Sir Marmaduke Succion Des Parties Génitales De Sanglier Courtenay and Lord Aime Un Chatouillement Sur Son Palais Mou Marmaduke Davidson were seated among other courtiers at a nearby table.

"How come _they_ aren't hanging upside down outside?"

"We _had_ a parliament, but it's in complete disarray. They don't know whether or not to accuse the royals plotting with Semple with treason." Johanna stabbed a piece of fish with a silver fork, then popped it into her mouth.

"They were trying to overthrow your uncle. Then you came along, so it became about restoring to the throne as the rightful ruler. Then your uncle got into the mix, and it has all turned out the way it wasn't supposed to. But it was supposed to."

"So, yes, they were treasonous and not treasonous. Gives me a headache simply thinking about it. Our special King's Guards will be keeping a close eye on them. An extremely close eye."

"Good," said House, taking a forkful of her whiting. "Wow, this sauce is gross," he said, his mouth full.

"House, you're eating from my plate!"

"Get used to it."

_Jesus Christ doing chainstitch embroidery_, _how much stamina did these bozos have?_

Most people over the age of twenty would have passed out after that stupefyingly enormous banquet. Soup, stews, fish, roast, peacock pie (surprisingly tasty), veal, almost everything covered in thick sauce. The array of desserts was nauseating, from glazed sponge cake carved into the shape of a boar's head to ice cream to round sugared balls in stacks. And all of it served on gleaming silver dishes. Each guest had their own individual silver salt and pepper shakers.

House belched freely, occasioning disapproving looks from the people around him. The ballroom was full of the king's court, faces red and sweating from all of the food and drink. The chandeliers sent glitters of light over the gold carvings around the top of the walls. A small orchestra played for the court, many of whom were dancing.

Thank God he didn't have to pretend to dance any more. When he first entered, courtiers thronged to him, wanting to speak to the Man Who Saved The Princess.

"Get lost," he snarled, and found a chair in a corner partly behind a fringed green velvet curtain. From there he could watch the dance floor. Particularly Wilson.

His brown clothes distinct in a sea of colors, Wilson was having a grand time. He gazed tenderly at each new dance partner, and was remarkably quick at picking up the dance steps. _Oh _yeah, Wilson was going to work his way through the women in this court. Now he and Louise were waltzing. She stared at him with open-mouthed admiration, clinging close. Wilson caught House's eye and winked.

House hitched his head to indicate, "Over here."

Wilson shook his head.

House hitched his head more forcefully.

Wilson rolled his eyes, said something to Louise, and walked off the dance floor.

"This had better be good."

House steepled his fingers. "I've been considering your future, Wilson."

"You're thinking about someone other than yourself? How high are you?"

God, Wilson could be an idiot. "You can't function without structure, without something to pour your need to be needed into. A few weeks here in the lap of luxury, you'll be pining for the good old days, riding in supply carts with transvestites with mad cocksucking skills."

Wilson considered, hands on hips, staring at the dancing courtiers. "I deserve a few weeks in the lap of luxury, House. You're the one who'll go crazy first and start diagnosing passing strangers."

"I'm better able to stand the strain of idleness than you, Wilson."

Wilson peered at him. "Who are you and what have you done with House?"

The waltz turned into a minuet. Couples broke apart and formed themselves into lines, the women's' gowns rustling, the sound of feet on the dance floor. Wilson turned to look. The music started. Why Wilson wanted to watch anything as boring as ballroom dancing was beyond House, when there were important matters at hand. "Wilson!"

"What?" Wilson turned back.

"I know you, Wilson. You need to head the new teaching hospital. You can give yourself good pay, vacation time, pretty nurses—"

"Wait, wait—" Wilson put a hand out to forestall any further comments. "You want me to set up a teaching hospital? Are you trying to recreate the place we left? Without any decent medical equipment?"

House sneered. "Oh, come on, Wilson, you know you want to. You're the person to overhaul the health care system here. You can make nice with whatever government the new rulers put in place, take command of one of the hospitals, the whole enchilada. That reminds me, I have to teach the cooks how to make enchiladas. Do you suppose they have jalapenos here?"

"So, I convince the parliament to turn one of their medical colleges over to me, and then I hire you. Is that the grand design?" Wilson shook his head slowly in wonder. House felt greatly pleased with himself.

"You've been a department head."

"_You've_ been a department head."

"You were head of a real department. Oncology was a bustling community, filled to the brim with cancer. Imagine turning one of these godawful hospitals into a bustling community, and you can fill it with as much cancer as you want. Win-win. You train physicians to be physicians, not just idiots waving scalpels. When that's done, I take three of the best and brightest as my fellows."

Wilson snorted. "Three of the best and brightest _what_?"

House turned serious. "Wilson, these doctors don't know the simplest things about hygiene. They've probably killed patients by touching them with their dirty hands. If nothing else, we teach them to boil their instruments in water. Simple enough for you? Nobody but us can do this, Wilson." He grinned. "And we can give ourselves really cool titles! Overlords of Disease! Wait, that doesn't sound right."

"Champagne?" A waiter came up behind them, holding a tray of champagne glasses and an hor d'ouvres on little plates. Wilson and House took champagne. Wilson eyed the morsels. "Er—what are those?"

"Sheep's eyeballs," said House. "You won't like 'em—they squirt."

"No, thank you." Wilson nodded to the waiter.

"We need to go to the library, Wilson. I've been writing a lot of ideas down and you have to look them over. They're brilliant ideas and they need to be put into action."

"House, it's a _dance_."

House made a shocked expression. "Oh my God, you're right! I'll get right out on that floor and shake it down!" He picked up his cane. "Cripple, you moron. Come on, let's go. You can seduce Louise later."

Wilson huffed a bit of air. "All right, but just this once."

House stood up and gave his friend an evil stare. "How long have you known me?"

"Our first order of business is to close down Keddlestone. That was the madhouse where we found the king. I can't wait to figure out the punishment."

"Ah, yes, House, you are made for these times. Unfortunately."


	115. Chapter 115

Fuzzy-tongued and bleary-eyed, House chugged a glass of water, than another. Eth didn't do much for hangovers except take away the headache. Honey mead was the work of the devil, the girly-drink of this place.

"Might I fetch you some luncheon, sir?" asked Gerhardt solicitously. "You slept through breakfast."

"I need to sleep through the rest of the week." Despite the water, House's mouth was still dry. "I'm going back to bed. Don't let anyone disturb me, not Johanna, not Wilson, not _anybody_."

"Very well, Captain." Gerhardt bowed and exited. House pulled the covers over his head. He hoped the others felt as lousy as he did.

The next morning, House was well enough to face a plate of grilled kidneys, eaten in the solitude of the guest room. Gerhardt helped him dress. Again, the high leather boots made stockings superfluous. He would have to find out if there was a royal shoemaker.

"Come in," he said to the knock at the door.

Johanna came in, beaming. She was again in fancy court dress, olive green this time, her hair tied up loosely.

"Good morning!"

House looked at her suspiciously. "What are you so happy about?"

"What are you so unhappy about?" Her thick brown eyebrows knitted together. "Oh, I forgot, you're unhappy more often than not."

"I don't know how well I'm going to adjust to living in this fancy bird cage." House looked around.

She took his hand. "I have a surprise for you, House."

"I don't like surprises."

"Shut up and contain yourself. Come with me."

He retrieved his cane and limped out of the room. Johanna had an annoying happy smile on her face. As they walked the halls, House wondered what was waiting for him.

When they came to an enormous white door, Johanna knocked and anorexic Ethel, one of the princess's ladies in waiting, swung it open. She bobbed a curtsy to Johanna. Ethel was also beaming, but she scurried away before House could start interrogating her.

"We're in my rooms," Johanna said, throwing her arms out. "My audience chamber, my sitting room, my bathing closet, and my bedchamber!" She twirled around. "They are so beautiful!"

"If you like cherubs," House muttered.

Johanna leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm having them painted over, House, the ones in the bedchamber. Nary a sign of a feather, let alone a wing. Follow me!"

She tugged his free hand, pulling him through a string of high-windowed rooms with feminine furniture, including the huge canopied bed. Instead of heading for the bed, she gave him a wink and pushed on a small latch on one of the porcelain-embellished walls. A door swung open.

"A secret passage?" House sneered. "You expect me to get excited about a secret passage?"

"No, House, stop grumbling and follow me."

Unlike the passage at the summer palace, there were candles in niches along the stone wall. House had no doubt that many a swain had passed through here.

"Here we are." Johanna pushed open the door.

House stood, frozen.

The room was perfect.

The wall tapestry was medium gray, with a subtly darker pattern. The furniture must have been taken from the fancier part of the servants' quarters. Most of it was plain, polished wood.

"This is your sitting room," said Johanna. "It was the bedroom, but I had it changed round, because it's extremely sunny during the day. The bedroom doesn't face south."

House stared around. There was a huge mahogany desk with numerous little shelves and cubbyholes; empty bookshelves; a plain dark wooden table with matching simple chairs; and a grey divan with a thick grey and gold duvet thrown over it. Thick velvet curtains with brown tassels covered the windows.

Johanna, delighted with his astonishment, grabbed his hand again. "There's more!"

"I—"

Johanna went to the far end of the room, and opened another door. "Your laboratory or whatever you care to call it."

House walked in, trailing his fingers along the smooth marble surfaces of the cabinets, admiring the large leather doctor's chair, all waiting to be equipped.

"It was your receiving chamber, but it was my guess you wouldn't want one of those." She gestured to the doors. "Locked. The key is on your desk. _Now-_" her voice rose in excitement, "for the real surprise!"

Johanna ran back into the sitting room, her face alight. She pulled aside one of the velvet curtains to reveal:

A piano.

A rosewood case grand piano, to be exact. Except for the overdone marquetry inlay, it was the most beautiful piano House had ever seen. The pedals were set in a lyre, which matched the music stand on top.

Without a word, House lifted the lid off the keyboard, and ran his hand along the keys. It needed tuning badly, but he didn't care.

He plopped down on the piano bench, and even though it was out of tune, he played Beethoven's Piano Sonata no. 14 in C-Sharp Minor, op. 27, no. 2.

Two hours later, he turned from the piano. Johanna was asleep on the divan.

"Hey!" he barked.

"Wuh—"

"Don't you appreciate good music?"

"Yes, but I dozed off. Keep playing if you wish." She gave him a sleepy smile. "You haven't seen your bed chamber yet."

After the other rooms and the piano, the bed chamber was a bit of a let-down. The furniture was as elaborate as any in the palace. The canopied bed was covered in garish yellow and gold silk. Sun slanted across the bed.

"I'm sorry, I haven't had time to do this room yet," Johanna said behind him. She opened the windows. Cold autumn air drifted in.

They sat on the edge of the big bed, silent.

"We've waited way too long for this," House said, pulling the hairpins out of Johanna's coiffure, watching as the tendrils and clumps fell around her shoulders. The sun shone on her hair, gilding the brown with gold. She closed her eyes as her tresses came down. He dropped the hairpins on the ground, and ran his hands through her soft thick hair, lightly touching her scalp. Layers of hair swam through his fingers, heavy and scented with lilac.

"Had to save the kingdom first," she breathed, dropping her head, eyes still closed. House kissed her hairline, smelling her, his loins stirring. How long had it been since they had been together? He kissed the tip of her nose, then her mouth, sliding his tongue in. Johanna did the same, and their tongues slid and slipped together. She moved so that her shoulder was behind his, her bosom pressing against his arm. He curved his arm up in front so that he was, in effect, holding the front of her upper body, then let his arm slide inward, brushing her breasts as he did.

"Dearest," she said so softly he could barely hear her. She leaned against him, and House realized she was undoing the back of her dress. Unlike when House first met Johanna, she knew how to undo hooks on her clothes now. He closed his eyes and kissed her lovingly, slowly, aware of Johanna shifting as she undid her dress. His mouth moved down her neck to her collarbone. There was an echo of how she had smelled, unwashed for days, under the perfume and cleanliness. His cock was stiffening, the pent-up lust building way too fast.

He slid her dress off of her shoulders. She was wearing the stiff, cotton v-shaped corset, mandatory under fancy dress. The long purple ribbons in the front were easy to untie, and the corset flopped open, its sides stiffly spreading out like small plain wings. There was a small red line under her breasts where the corset had cut into them. House ran his finger along the line. Her nipples were erect and hard as pebbles. Johanna exhaled happily, one hand caressing her right breast. House pushed her hand away, bent over and sucked it, feeling her body jolt with pleasure. His hand gently fingered the other breast. His lust was so intense that it tickled in a strange way—he wanted to pull his cock out and jerk himself off, but that would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

He felt her tenderly moving her hand up his suit coat, slipping her fingers into his collar, rubbing his C7 vertebrae, the tips of her fingers digging into his trapezius muscle. The position was somewhat awkward, but who cared? It felt really good.

His mouth moved to the other breast. She thrust herself into his mouth, jolting again. Her eyes sparkled and she threw her head back with a load moan.

He pivoted, standing, pushing her back on the bed. Johanna lay down, her dress open to the waist, saliva slicking her breast bone. She pulled her arms from the sleeves, letting the top half scrunch under her, swatches of green silk around her pale body. Leaning over her, House kissed, licked and nibbled her shoulders, the inside of her elbows, the pulse points of her wrists, while she moved her hips. Not bothering to pull up her skirts, he put his hand between her legs where he knew her clit was, and rubbed there forcefully.

"OH!" Johanna's eyes flew open, staring at nothing. "Oh, yes! Yes! Push down, push down!" She gasped and moaned, her hips bucking up to meet his hand. House was having a hard time controlling himself. It would be so easy to pull the rest of her clothes off and just do her. But as painful as controlling himself was, control was in itself a pleasure, although a pleasure that had his penis straining against his clothes and his legs going wobbly.

"Wait, wait," Johanna slid backwards on the bed until she was almost entirely lying across it, only her feet dangling over the coverlet. "You shouldn't stand too long."

House crawled over her and shoved his mouth into hers, his sweat dripping on her face. Balancing up on his knees, trying not to wince at the ache in his thigh, he undid the breech buttons and pulled out his erect dick.

"Greetings, you," Johanna said to it, then licked the tip. He almost hit the ceiling, but instead fell forward so that he loomed over her. She took him into her mouth, and oh, _boy_, was he close to coming!

"Ngh." That was as coherent as he could manage. "_Oooooooh_..." Johanna played his penis as expertly as a musician plays the flute. He closed his eyes, and again saw patterns, orange and black Oriental swirls as if on a paper screen, and then he climaxed with an explosion into her mouth. He fell over beside her, gasping.

"My turn," she said, pulling up her skirts to expose her legs, white stockings tied with pink ribbons around the thighs, and her crotch. Considerately, she moved until she was lying the right way on the bed, opening her legs.

"In for a penny," he said, and plunged his face between her legs. Her clit was swollen and throbbing. Knowing it would make her crazy, he teased the reddened nub with his tongue, licked it, sucked on it. He was rewarded with screams of ecstasy, Johanna arching her back and clutching her skirts, presumably so as not to tear his hair out. Her thighs quivered, tensed, then a rush of hot liquid came out of her. Her legs went limp, and although House couldn't see her, he knew she was lying there with her mouth open and eyes wide.

He waited for a few minutes, listening to them both breathe. He felt himself starting to stiffen again. Man, it had been way too long since he'd had sex with Johanna.

"Let's slip into something more comfortable, shall we? Like each other?"

It was a bit of an effort to stand. Johanna sat up.

"Let me pull your boots off."

"I didn't know you liked leather."

"Well, I do. Just lie back and let me do it."

She pulled up a small stool. Johanna was disheveled, her hair going every which-way, her dress flopping around her waist, her chest blotchy red, her chin wet. She looked amazingly fuckable. And she belonged to him. And he didn't want to run away.

Johanna ran her hand along House's right boot. "This leather is so well polished, I can see my reflection." She rubbed her face along it. "It's so soft, like kidskin. Now..." She pulled the boot off slowly, so that House's calf and foot jangled as the leather went past. She did the same with the other boot, not taking her eyes off of it. Then she looked at House and rubbed the boot shaft between her breasts, biting her lip.

He shucked off his suit coat, pulled off his breeches and shirt, and was naked in record time. His cock stuck out like a ruler. He helped Johanna undo the final hooks on her dress and untie all of those damn petticoats. Both naked, they flung themselves against each other, kissing, humping, and giggling.

"Carry me to the bed, House," Johanna whispered in his ear.

"My leg and the rest of me says no. You carry me if that's what you want."

"No!" She turned and jumped back on the bed, laughing. "Carry yourself!"

"My leg can get down with that."

House hopped on the bed and embraced her. Laughing, naked, the silk coverlet soft under them, they kissed and stroked each other's arms, legs, hips, back and chest. At one point they were facing each other, kissing, left and right leg together, her left foot up on his shoulder. The position brought their privates alongside each other. They looked into each other's eyes and gently moved their bodies closer, inching along. Her arm went down his back, and he reached down and felt her outer loin, which was disconcertingly cool compared to the rest of her body. He hoped he was being subtle by rubbing against her, but she continued to stroke and pet him like a cat, so subtle turned to demanding.

Acquiescing, she rolled onto her back, sliding her legs apart deliberately. She was smiling, eyes half-closed. "Fuck me," she whispered.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he said, and his prick slipped right in. They fucked slowly, luxuriating in pleasure. At first Johanna lay dreamily, barely moving her hips. House's prick stiffened further, a bit sore, but also ultrasensitive, and he moved faster because it felt so damn good. As she felt his shaft throb and thicken, she seemed to rouse herself, and heaved her hips toward him. "Yes, fuck me, please!"

He watched Johanna's flushed face, hair sticking to it, the pulse in her neck, her jiggling bust, wanting to scoop her up and hold her against his chest. But he couldn't, he was too busy pounding her into the bed. She was growing more excited, her thighs lifting her hips, her nails raking down his back, obscenities tumbling from her mouth like candy. He felt her vaginal muscles tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening, each time more strongly, and his body was going rigid, his muscles flexing, waves and waves of pleasure ripping through him like a sonic boom.

"Push harder, please, please," she begged, her voice ragged. "I'm—" she broke off with a small high squeal, and he could feel her orgasm, her body jerking like a puppet.

He slammed into her again and again, his balls clenched, and he came, yelling her name.

He fell asleep on top of the bed, relaxed and happy.


	116. Chapter 116

House woke slowly, smiling. His eyes still closed, he reached out his left arm and felt—

Rough upholstery fabric.

His heart stopped, and then started again. He did not dare open his eyes. With his right hand, he slowly felt down the bed. Soft, worn cotton sheets, much finer than anything in the palace. A thick down comforter. His heart sped up.

With a short inhalation, he opened his eyes.

He was in Wilson's apartment. Lying on Wilson's green couch, gray sheets and green comforter tangled around him. To his left was the coffee table. _Why was the coffee table there?_ Across the room was a small fireplace, with bookcases on either side of it. There were metal sconces above the fireplace.

The beginning of dawn was creeping through the window.

_No._

"Wilson?" He pulled back the bedding and swung his legs over the side of the couch, sucking in his breath as his leg twinged. He was in a baggy t-shirt and loose cotton drawstring shorts.

_What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_

House stood up, blood roaring in his ears. His legs were wobbly and he almost fell back against the couch. He grabbed for his cane. It was his cane, wooden, perfect height, smoothly polished.

_No. No._

With growing horror, House saw everything as simultaneously normal and bizarre at the same time. That big thing...flat screen TV. Kitchen cabinet metal thing...dishwasher. The red numbers across the room...a digital clock. Digital. Digital. Why were the noises so loud outside?

There was Wilson's bedroom door. House's hand shook so much he could barely knock.

Wilson pulled the door open. His hair was mussed and short; he was also in a t-shirt, and baggy navy—what were they? Sweatpants. "_What_?" Wilson whined, face smeared with sleep.

"Wilson—why are we here?" House stared at his friend. He was flabbier, skin paler, everything was wrong!

"It's too early in the morning to answer existential questions." Wilson yawned.

"What happened to everything?"

"Ok. I'll bite: it went home with nothingness?"

"That's not what I mean!"

"Let me guess: and they both got totally annihilated."

"If you don't give me a straight answer, I will punch you in the face."

"Huh? Nothing happened." Wilson peered at him. "Are you high?"

"No!"

"You look like hell. What did you take?" Wilson put his hand on House's arm.

_He had been hallucinating. Again._

His chest clenched, his heart hammered. It was all a hallucination—Johanna, Wilson, the rebellion, everything—hallucination. He had truly lost his mind. House knew enough about how the brain worked to know that a hallucination could seem to last for months but could be only a minute or two.

"I didn't take anything." House looked at the floor. "I'm hallucinating again. But it's worse. I hallucinated that I was gone for months."

Wilson's brown eyes widened. "Where were you?"

"I was...it was like 18th century England. There was a princess, and a king—"

"So, you were hallucinating that you were in a Grimm's fairy tale? Did you see the valiant little tailor?"

The swirling panic was giving away to a huge black crashing wave of loss. _It's all gone—it's all gone. _

"What did you take?"

"I didn't take anything!"

Oh God, his mind had set up an elaborate puzzle, and he'd solved it. This wasn't a dream. Yes, most dreams contained complete realities, but not this complete, down to the last detail. And they didn't go on and on and on. It had to be a hallucination; hallucinations can take on very different subjective views of the passing of time than the outside clock. "I solved the puzzle."

"House, what puzzle? You don't have a case."

"Sorry, I was talking to myself. Crazy people do that." _My mind is gone. Things that aren't real seem more real than reality. I'm not on any drugs. My mind is __**gone**__. _

"House—"

Wilson helped him back to the couch. The couch! _There was not supposed to be a couch_!

"What did you take? Come on, House, give it up! Was it Vicodin? Hallucinogenics? Some apothecary drug you didn't bother to ask about?"

"You don't—" Johanna. House would never see her again. _She was a figment of my imagination._ Oh God, how could he have loved a figment so intensely? What kind of tricks was his mind playing on him?

"The hallucination made no sense. There's no reason for it. I'm not neurologically impaired. Then why did it happen?"

Wilson knelt in front of him. "House, this is getting scary. Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

He stared across the room at the white plaster fireplace. It should be five times larger, and marble, and there should be fireplace tools next to it—why was there a fireplace tool holder and no fireplace tools?

Yes, he needed to go back to the mental hospital. If they could repair his mind, and that was a big IF, what was he coming back to? If he returned to reason and got his medical license back, what then? Solve a case; waste time; solve a case; waste time; solve a case... WHY?

The screen in front of the fireplace needed to be cleaned. "Everything is gone...she's gone...she's gone..."

"House, nothing's gone! There's nothing. There's nothing." Wilson's brown eyes stared into his, probably looking for dilated pupils.

House's eyes swept the living room when something caught his eye. It was on the coffee table.

A large ornate fountain vase in porcelain trimmed with gold. Covered with cherubs.

He smiled at Wilson. "I didn't know you went in for rococo decoration." He nodded his head toward the vase.

"I'm sorry, House, I know you really hate cherubs. But Johanna insisted."

House patted his friend's arm. "See you on the flip side."

"House! Wake up! House!"

House opened his eyes. Johanna, leaning over him, frowning. "House, wake up!"

"Johanna—"

"You were talking in your sleep, saying it's gone, it's gone, over and over. What was gone?"

House sat up and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing hard.

"Ow!"

"Slap me."

"What?"

"Slap me. Across the face. Don't hold back."

"But I don't want—"

"Do it."

Johanna shrugged, then slapped him across the face. Thank God, it hurt!

"Thank you!" He kissed her, hard. "Where's Wilson? I have to see him _now_."

"House, are you out of your mind?" Johanna spluttered. "What—"

"WILSON!"

"He's in his chambers—what—"

House scrambled out of the gold canopied bed and fumbled for his robe, not caring that he was naked. He grabbed his cane.

"House, where are you going? I'm not dressed!" Johanna ran after him, snatching the duvet off the divan in the front room.

He had to find Wilson. They burst out into the hall.

"May I help you, your Highness?" asked a footman standing outside the door.

"Um, not right now."

"Which way?" he demanded.

Johanna was frantically wrapping the duvet around herself. "There." She pointed, and the duvet almost slipped. The footman helped her pull it back up.

"Thank you," she said, and ran after House.

"This door."

House didn't bother knocking. He slammed it open.

"WILSON!"

With a speed he didn't know he was capable of, he limped through Wilson's front rooms into the bed chamber. Johanna followed, clumsily trying to keep herself covered.

"House? Where's the fire?" Wilson pushed himself up in bed. "Johanna?"

House jumped onto the bed, and hugged Wilson.

"What—you don't _hug_."

"Give me a break, Wilson, I'm entitled to one per millennium." House moved over on the bed.

There was an "OUCH!" under the bedcovers.

"Motherhips?"

Motherhips emerged, and gave Johanna an uneasy smile. "Good morning, your Highness. Eldridge, come out."

Burton stepped out from behind the window curtain, a scared, sheepish look on his face.

House was taken aback. "I thought you'd be with Louise."

Wilson smiled. "She's going to take a little more time. We were—" He gestured vaguely to Motherhips and Burton.

"I can guess. You and Mom-Ass go at it while Burton goes at himself."

"Your knack for the telling phrase never ceases to amaze me, House."

"House, what on earth is going on?" Johanna demanded. She plopped down on the other side of the bed, hanging back a bit from Motherhips.

House looked at all of them around him. He turned to her with a broad smile.

"Nothing. I had a bad dream."

THE END


End file.
